Even if You Cannot Hear My Voice
by theatricalveggie
Summary: "Because you loved me. Because we spent hours learning what each other felt like. Because touching my skin anchored you. Because I'm cold, and you're hot like a furnace. Because your fingers are home when knotted in my hair." This is story picks up right at the end of I'll Be Right Beside You and follows Everlark through District 13. Canon-divergent. [Light Up Series - Book 3]
1. Chapter 1 - 13

**A/N: Welcome to Even if You Cannot Hear My Voice. This is the third book in the Light Up series. You can obviously delve right in if you want, but I'd suggest checking out As if You Have a Choice (1) and I'll Be Right Beside You (2) if you want to be fully caught up to where these characters are. To those following me from the previous two... hello my lovelies!**

District 13 is a mechanical place. People value order and predictability. Their way of life is ceaselessly monotonous. They all walk around in the same gray clothes and eat the same bland food and wear the same worn shoes. Nothing here is new, so when the district was flooded with nearly a thousand refugees, most of their residents didn't know what to do. The people of District 12 were welcomed with open arms, yes, but those from 13 were almost too enthusiastic. Some stared. They watched. People from 12 smiled. No one knew what to do with that.

The people from 12 feel a kind of safety they've never known. There is no chance of starving here. No chance of being purposeless. No chance of a child reaped, no chance of a meaningless, unnoticed death in an alley or behind a trash heap. No selling your body for food, no sacrificing your children for tesserae, no tampered education or class system. Everyone is equal here, almost to a fault. Everyone is the same. But sacrificing self-identity for a full stomach doesn't seem to be much of a problem for most of the huddled masses from 12. Those over fourteen are given entry ranks in the military and addressed respectfully as "Soldier." Every refugee is granted automatic citizenship in 13.

Still, I hate them. I hate everyone. I hate myself most of all.

People talk more at me than to me. Plutarch. His calculating assistant, Fulvia Cardew. A mishmash of leaders from 13 that all blend together in my head. I have a hard time distinguishing between people down here. Haymitch is conspicuously absent, and I don't bother asking where he is. In fact, I don't talk to any of them at all. I am mostly quiet or sometimes entirely nonresponsive, but I'm here for a means to an end. If I'm going to get to the Capitol, filing in among 13's ground troops is my best shot.

The one person in 13 who doesn't talk to me is their president, Alma Coin. She watches me with an expressionless face. I find myself staring at her, too. Examining the gray sheet of hair that hangs precisely along her face, not a strand out of place. It's almost too perfect. Maybe it's a wig. Her eyes are gray too, but not like Seam folk. They are pale, almost as if someone sucked the color out of them and this is all that remains. After a particularly unproductive meeting, where I sat silently and listened to them discuss plans for the role they designed for me, I walked out without a word. I heard her voice carry. "This is why I wanted to save the boy."

I couldn't agree more.

Instead they got me. Uncooperative. Callous. Spiteful.

Each day I put my arm under a scanner and a schedule prints in purple ink. I go to anything I think might help – weapons training, military strategy, field medic courses. Anything I find disinteresting I don't bother attending. At first, this causes a real disruption. No one in the 13 ignores, let alone disobeys, their schedules. But during Underground Plant Production or Geometric Theory, I hide in storage closets and behind metal pipes. I close my eyes and try to remember to breathe. I grieve in a type of quiet desolation that looks like apathy, but feels like entropy.

Gale and I land in the hanger deck. The hovercraft unloads wordlessly, and we walk from the landing pad to the Dining Hall. We're late, which earns an unreasonable amount of staring. I grab of a tray of plain looking food and sit at an empty table. Gale follows me and sits.

"What am I going to tell Mom and Prim about Twelve?" I ask through a mouthful of indiscernible food. I think it's okra, but it's hard to tell in blended form.

"I doubt they'll ask for details. They saw it burn. They'll mostly be worried about how you're handling it." Gale lifts his hand and touches my cheek. I lean into it. "Like I am."

"I'll survive," I answer. Gale drops his hand again and fidgets with his communicuff. I stare at it blankly. The device means you have a sort of special status around here. Gale earned his when he blew up the train station and rescued the refugees of 12.

My bag moves on the floor.

"It's unbelievable no one's noticed that thing," he grins.

"I should go," I say, rising to my feet.

"Katniss–", he starts, but whatever Gale was going to say is left in his throat.

I walk the path to Compartment 307, which I share with my mother and sister. I hesitate outside the door, and finally push my way inside. There aren't any words, but their faces are etched with concern. Before anyone can say anything, I empty my bag and Buttercup scurries across the room. Prim weeps tears of joy at the sight of her lost love. She sits on the floor and rocks that miserable cat like a baby in her arms, and he purrs until he occasionally meets my eye, and then he looks smug.

"Don't let them see it," I tell her, referring to the cat.

"Him, Katniss," Prim corrects, her loving gaze never leaving the lumpy, miserable creature.

My eyes meet my mom's. It's the same silent question I ask her every time I'm absent for a period of time. She shakes her head. There has been no word from the Capitol on any of the missing tributes from the Quarter Quell. I imagine that means they are dead. The Capitol wouldn't have wasted weeks when they could have been used for propaganda. Made examples of. Most of the districts are in outright revolt. The Capitol has executed key members of the revolution on television. They've executed anyone associated to a rebel. The night they executed Peeta's prep team, I locked myself in my room and didn't come out for days. I have no idea where my prep team is.

I look at my arm. "I have weapons training," I utter to myself more than anyone else, and slip out of the compartment before they can say anything else. When I get to the assigned room, however, the instructor stops me at the door.

"Soldier Everdeen, they are asking for you in Command."

I look over his shoulder and notice Gale is absent as well. Great. Probably another relentless Mockingjay meeting. I've been less than cooperative. I fail to see how playing their little part gets Peeta back, and that's all I'm thinking about. My mother is safe. My sister is safe. The people of District 12 are safe, and those that are not safe are dead. I don't think my trumpeting around like some puppet will help those rebelling in the districts. All I see it doing is drawing a bigger target on Peeta, if that's even possible. I trudge the familiar path to Command, which is really like a high-tech war room. It's full of gadgets and electronic maps and other things I'm not supposed to touch.

I find Gale but he averts his eyes from mine, staring at the floor. No one else notices me. They're all gathered at the far end of the room, staring at the television that plays a 24-hour feed of the Capitol broadcast. I think I might be able to sneak away, when Plutarch, whose ample frame has been blocking the screen of the television, sees me at the door and urgently waves me forward.

I reluctantly move toward the group. It's always the same continuous loop of war footage – the burning of 12, an ominous message from Snow, some important execution I don't want to see. Propaganda. Threats. Displays of force. But when I raise my eyes, the image I see instead is entirely new.

Peeta.

I make a sound that is somewhere between a gasp and a groan. I shove my way through the people until I'm immediately in front of the screen. I rest my hand on the glass, as if I could touch him through it, and my throat swells. He's alive. He's alive and out of reach. He can form words. He looks okay. It doesn't appear that he's spent the last five weeks starved of food or beaten. He certainly doesn't look well, not like himself, but I was imagining much, much worse in the constructs of my mind.

The camera pans to Caesar Flickerman, and I realize they are doing an interview, almost like the ones we did after our Games. Peeta sits across for Caesar on a plush couch. He's dressed in a white suit. I wonder who prepped him. I wonder if he knows what happened to his team. My mind concentrates on the little details I can handle. His hair is brushed away from his face. His hand is shaking slightly, but he's trying to hide it.

"I have to confess, the night before the Quarter Quell, I assumed we'd never see you again!" Caesar starts. I suppose that's an easy lead. Pretenses have been dropped. We all know the truth of our situation.

"This certainly wasn't my plan, no," Peeta admits. At the sound of his voice I feel my knees give slightly, and I lock them under me.

"I think it was clear to us what your plan was. Sacrifice yourself to save Katniss and your unborn child," Caesar urges him on, and Peeta nods in agreement.

"That was it," Peeta answers, and offers nothing more.

"Why don't you tell us what happened that night? The night the Arena fell?" Caesar asks, looking at him with the perfect mix of concern and curiosity. Peeta stares at him fiercely, his jaw locked. "We all saw the footage of you attacking Katniss," Caesar leads. I realize the Capitol has probably manipulated what has been seen. After I blew the Arena the live feed cut. They must still have recordings though. They must be showing Peeta smashing my head again and again, as if he's brutalized me. Turned on me. Coin must know this, they see all the Capitol footage. I'm being kept in the dark. Again. "You attacked her when you realized she was a rebel all along. That she'd lied to you," Caesar tries to press Peeta forward. Clearly he's been given a script. Peeta's supposed to betray me, blame me, call me out. He grips the arms of his chair.

"We didn't know about the plan. Either of us," Peeta mutters.

Caesar isn't expecting this answer but recovers. "It certainly doesn't look like that, Peeta. It looks like Katniss was in on it. She's the one that took down the Arena," he asserts.

"She didn't know!" Peeta yells, leaning forward in his seat when his eyes suddenly dart off camera. He settles back down again. He's being watched. He's being threatened.

"Just say what they want," I whisper. _Do whatever you have to do to stay alive for me._

"What about your mentor, Haymitch Abernathy?" Caesar asks.

"I have no idea what he knew," Peeta replies bitterly.

"Could he have been part of the conspiracy?" Caesar counters.

"He never mentioned it," Peeta says, staring at his hands.

Caesar presses. "What does your heart tell you?"

Peeta is silent. There are so many intricacies about his body only I know. I can tell his breath has gotten shallow. He's trying to keep calm. His eyes keep flitting off screen. He's terrified, and Caesar is not getting what he wants out of him.

"Peeta, is there anything you'd like to say to the rebel forces?" Caesar sets up.

Peeta looks at the camera. A prepared speech sits in his throat. They want him to condemn the rebels. I know when he's performing. His stature changes, he's more articulate. He tries, but his shoulders fall flat. _Say it. Say it._ _Whatever it is, just say it._ Instead, he shakes his head.

The feed cuts, and I find my hand pressed against a black screen. It's illuminated again with footage of a Peacekeeping force, and I let it slide down to my side. My chest burns with indignation.

"I want him out of there," I turn around, tears burning in my eyes.

"That's ridiculous. It's not at all prudent to save him at this time, especially after he just had an opportunity to pledge his allegiance to the alliance, to unite the people, to condemn the Capitol, and instead he chose to stay silent," Coin says, her voice even. "What value is he to us?"

"Either you help me save him, or I will march on the Capitol myself and you can watch them slaughter your little Mockingjay on live television!" I spit back. They stare at me. My voice drops low. "You think I'm joking? Try me."

I turn around and storm out of the room. One of Coin's men lays a hand on my arm, not aggressively, but after two Arenas I take any unexpected physical contact as an assault. I rip my arm from his grip and run down the hallway. I find a familiar supply closet and duck inside, curling up against a crate of white chalk. After a few minutes, I hear a soft knock at the door.

"Katniss?" Gale whispers. I turn the handle and he slips in, closing the door quietly behind him. He slides down on the floor next to me, blood running down his face.

"What happened?" I ask, by brow fretted. I use my sleeve to wipe his nose.

"I got in Boggs's way," he replies, flinching at the contact with my shirt. I try to be gentler.

"Which one is he?" I ask, my eyes still on his nose.

"The one who touched you," he replies coldly. He looks up at me and there's a moment of anxiety between us that's never really faded. He pushes it down.

"You fought with Boggs?" I ask. He's just as foolhardy as I am.

"No, I just blocked the door when he tried to follow you and took an elbow to the nose. I think it was probably an accident, but either way…" His voice trails off.

"You're going to get punished," I say quietly.

"Already have." Gale waves his bare wrist in the air. They've confiscated his communicuff. I bite my lip and try not to laugh, but the whole thing just seems ridiculous to me.

"I'm sorry, Soldier Hawthorne," I smirk.

"Don't be, Soldier Everdeen," he grins. Laughing lightly, he stands and wipes his hands on his pants before offering me a hand up. "I need to go see your mom. I think you made this worse," he says, gesturing to his face.

I walk Gale up to the hospital ward. My mother has been volunteering her time there. When she sees us at the door she immediately whisks Gale away to a curtained off bed, and my feet wander the familiar path to Finnick's room.

Eventually I forgave Finnick. It was impossible not to in the miserable state he's in. Snow has Annie. We've been able to confirm that. While she hasn't been seen since her abduction, multiple sources from 4 have verified she was taken by the Capitol. He doesn't eat. He sleeps all day. The doctors say it's from the electrical shock he received in the Arena, but I know it's more than that. Finnick can't concentrate on what's happening in front of him in 13 because his mind is trapped with a mad girl in a prison. He doesn't leave the hospital ward. He doesn't focus on anything at all.

I'm an exception. When he sees me at his door, he smiles weakly and I plop next to him on the bed. I don't know how he's going to react to what I tell him.

"They put Peeta on TV tonight," I state directly. Finnick's face shifts.

"Was he… okay?" Finnick asks.

"Um, he looked okay. He looked…" I can't even find words.

"Was it just Peeta? Did you see Johanna? Or Annie?" There's a little too much hope in his voice, but he deflates when I shake my head. I look at him seriously. I take his hand in mine.

"I'm going to get him out," I breathe, and Finnick's eyes snap up at me. His face hardens.

"I'm coming with you."


	2. Chapter 2 - Two Weeks

That night, I lie in bed rolling the pearl between my fingers. My personal effects were returned to me after I was released from the hospital ward – the pearl, the spile, my pin. My Quarter Quell uniform, which had been cut from my body, was probably discarded. Prim thinks they'll keep it and put it in a museum someday, but District 13 seems too frugal to keep things solely for posterity. Waste is waste, and need is need.

I think about what Finnick and I discussed today. If I want the leadership in 13 to help me rescue Peeta, I need to give them something in return. I roll on my back and look at the ceiling. I need to be the Mockingjay.

The idea of playing another part makes me feel sick. It's just another propaganda machine, and even if I believe in the cause, I believe in honesty too. There's been too much lying, too much deceit, too many masks to wear. If people are going to rise up, sacrifice their lives and the lives of those they love, it should be for something they believe in, not because I'm on television repeating some stupid phrase Plutarch has written.

In my mind I picture Rue, lying on the floor of the forest, her eyes still. I see the pool of Cinna's blood on the floor of the Launch Room. I remember wooden box after wooden box being buried when they sent home the bodies of our fallen children after each Hunger Games. I remember thinking they were tiny compared to the boxes we used for miners, for the elderly, for the weak and the starved. I see my sister sleeping next to me – hair brittle, bones protruding from her cheeks and hips, skin pale. I know why the rebels are fighting this war. I know why I want to fight this war. But I want to fight it as me, not as some sanctimonious figure.

Peeta looked alright. Not good, by any means, but he wasn't emaciated or defaced in any way that I could see. I close my eyes and try to feel him. Remember his weight next to me in bed. Remember the heat that emanated from his body. There are few windows in 13. I wonder how he'd sleep here, if it would be too stuffy. If he'd lie awake like I do, feeling buried alive.

I sit up and rest my head on my knees, clasping a fist over the pearl and trying to breathe.

"Katniss?" Prim whispers. I turn my head and see her awake, staring at me. She's curled in bed with my mother. Our compartment only has two beds, but Prim hasn't really been able to sleep with me since my first Games anyway. The nightmares make me thrash and sweat and scream. I keep them up most nights. I wonder if I should get my own compartment. I wonder if they'd let me have one.

"I'm fine, go back to sleep," I whisper soothingly. The worry on her brow seems to smooth, but she crawls out of bed, lifts Buttercup in her arms, and takes a seat next to me. She reaches out her hand and places it on mine.

"You're freezing," Prim whispers, pulling a blanket from the end of the bed and wrapping it around our shoulders. I smile softly at her, staying curled up but turning my head so I'm facing her. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asks. I shake my head. "I'm good at keeping secrets, even from Mom." I stare at her in the darkened room. She's grown up so much. Where's my little duck gone?

"Tomorrow I'm going to tell them I'll be their Mockingjay," I confess.

"Because you want to or because you have to?" she asks. I don't know how to answer that. I want to fight. I want to be part of the rebellion. But I don't want to be their Mockingjay. I want to stand arm in arm with the brothers and sisters of Panem. I want to revolt. But I'm not anonymous. I can't be just another foot soldier. "Being the Mockingjay doesn't have to be fake, Katniss," Prim says into the black of our room.

"What do you mean?" I pose.

"I mean… Underneath it the Mockingjay is still you. And you have a story to tell. You have something to say. Maybe you'll have to read some lines, maybe they'll try to put words in your mouth. Find your voice, though, and they won't have to. Find your Mockingjay song," she whispers. I contemplate her in the night.

"I should wake you up more often, Little Duck," I whisper, leaning my head on hers.

"I wish you would," she whispers back, and finds my hand under the blanket.

The next morning I'm scribbling a list of demands on a piece of scrap paper while shoveling grits in my mouth. Gale takes a seat next to me and eyes my notes while I stare longingly at the apple on his plate. I've got to stop that. He's already too quick to give me his food. Even though I quickly turn my attention back to my list, I find the apple slipped onto my tray.

"You can't keep doing that," I say through a mouthful of McIntosh. I set the apple back on his plate, minus one enormous bite. "You're going to get in trouble."

"What can they do? They've already got my communicuff," Gale retorts. We both find the rationing down here intolerable. We are used to being hungry, yes, but we are also used to managing what we do have. Providing. Maybe I should add that to my list. I scribble _hunting_ in with my other demands.

"I'm going to Command. Come with me?" I ask.

"I'm supposed to be in Nuclear History," Gale replies, checking his arm. He's been a consummate rule follower down here. The military attitude almost suits him. It makes me feel stifled. He looks at my face, though, and sets his schedule aside. "Sure, let's go."

Usually I drag my feet to these obligatory meetings, but today Command seems insurmountably distant as we walk the many hallways that lead to the Center. I enter the room as expected. Eyes dart to Gale, who was not invited to this meeting, but no one says anything.

"Alright, before we begin, I have a couple notes," Plutarch starts, and I immediately interrupt.

"I'll be your Mockingjay," I state, and the room is silent for a moment before it erupts in muted cries of approval and applause. Coin, however, just stares at the paper in my hand. "I have some conditions," I add, and the room falls quiet again. I unfold the paper and press it smooth against my pants. I clear my throat.

"First, I want Gale. His priority needs to be the Mockingjay mission. I don't know you people, but he seems to trust you and I trust him," I state. I figured this would be my easiest demand.

"Want him how? Off camera? By your side at all times? Do you want him presented as your new lover?" Coin asks. Her voice is composed, calm even, but I stare at her like she's grown another head.

"I think we should keep with the current romance. The audience might lose sympathy with her if she leaves Peeta," Plutarch says.

"Agreed, so on screen Gale can simply be another rebel. Is that alright?" Coin asks, an eyebrow perked.

"We can always work him in as your cousin," Fulvia suggests.

"We're not cousins," Gale and I say immediately, in unison.

"Right, but we should probably keep that up on camera. For appearance's sake. Off camera, he's all yours. Anything else?" Plutarch asks.

My stomach feels rancid. This implication that I would simply cast aside Peeta for the closest warm body is sickening. The fact that we are spending so much time discussing the semantics around who will be presented as my lover is ridiculous. We are in the middle of a war, and our leaders are worried about who people think is my boyfriend? It seems trivial.

"I want access to the outside, for both me and Gale. We want to hunt," I state. There is some back and forth on logistics, but ultimately the request is granted.

I exhale, and look up at their expectant faces.

"Peeta and the other captured victors are to be rescued and pardoned," I assert. The room is still. I feel Gale's body tense next to mine.

"No," Coin replies flatly.

"Yes," I shoot back. "It's not their fault you abandoned them in that Arena."

"Rescuing them is not pragmatic at this time," Coin replies.

"I'm going to get Peeta, and the only way you can stop me is locking me in a cell, which I'm sure wouldn't play well with the rebels and their sympathizers. Either you help me save him, or you've got a dead Mockingjay on your hands, but either way, I'm going," I state.

"Even if we did rescue them, who knows what kind of secrets they've given the Capitol? How many lives may be lost because of their intel? I am not granting blind immunity. They will be charged along with the other war criminals that have blood on their hands." Coin responds.

I lean over the table, in her face. My voice is cold, bitter, determined. I stare Coin in the eyes. "They will be granted immunity. You will announce it in front of the entire population of Thirteen. It will be recorded for future generations. You will hold your government, you will hold _yourself_ personally responsible for their safety, or you will find another Mockingjay!"

"There she is!" Fulvia crows, and I break my glare with Coin and look up at her.

"That's her! That's our Mockingjay!" Plutarch trumpets. "Picture that same fire, that same spark, with rebel flags flying behind her and Capitol ruins at her feet. That is the face, the voice, the woman that will unite Panem!"

I can see Coin measuring this in her mind. She sits silently before she finally states, "I want to see it."

"What?" I ask.

"I want you to make one of Plutarch's propos. I want to see what you can do. If I am satisfied that this Mockingjay is what they all say it is, then we will acquiesce to your demands," she states. "Anything else?"

"When the time comes, I kill Snow," I avow.

"Done," she states, without even hesitating.

"You have two weeks to rescue Peeta, or I'm going," I state, before turning my back on them and walking to the door. I stop at the exit. "Oh, and my sister gets to keep her cat," I throw in over my shoulder. I slam the door and bury the commotion behind it. I hear it open and footsteps thud behind me.

"Katniss," Gale says, rushing to catch up.

"What?" I say, spinning back to him.

"Rescuing Peeta… That's a suicide mission. He's buried in the middle of the Capitol. You won't survive," he rambles.

"I don't care," I reply and start walking.

"I care!" he bellows, and the words ring in the empty hallway. "I care," he repeats under his breath. He knows right away what he's done. He's been careful not to push, not to say something he shouldn't. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just…"

"Let's just go," I reply, and we head to Tactical Planning in silence.

Two weeks.


	3. Chapter 3 - Cleared

"Two weeks!" Finnick complains, tugging at his hair. "We don't even know if they'll be alive in two weeks."

"We don't have a choice. If we want a hovercraft for the rescue, we need 13," I state. He knots his fingers in the hospital blanket. "And we need time to get ready. We don't even know where they are being held," I add. He knows I'm right, but he's frustrated. I know how he feels.

A nurse peeks her head in Finnick's room. "The doctor can see you now, Soldier Everdeen."

"Thanks," I say, rising from my chair. "I'll be right back," I tell Finnick before following her out of the room. It's my six week physical. After today I should be cleared to resume athletic training.

I change into a hospital gown and wait expectantly on the table for a doctor to come in. It's cold – 13 is always cold – and I sit on my hands. There's a quick knock and the door opens. A doctor wearing the standard white jacket over her grey clothing enters the room and smiles. People down here don't usually smile. I find it off-putting.

"Hello, Katniss," she says cordially as she glances her way through my chart. I keep my eyes on her hands. "Okay, I'm going to have you lie back." I drop back on the table and she blows into her hands and rubs them together to warm them. "I swear, it's like living in a freezer," she complains. _She's not from 13,_ I realize. I squint at her face. Her skin is ashen, her hair dark. She catches me eyeing her complexion. "I'm from District 3," she offers. Somehow, this puts me more at ease. She lifts my gown and palpates my abdomen. She listens to my lungs, checks my incision, feels my lymph nodes in all different places on my body. She has me lift my arms over my head and touch my toes. "All good so far. Now for the not fun part," she says chipperly, and raises the stirrups on the table. I slide down and she begins the pelvic examine. I wonder if she'll know I wasn't pregnant.

She presses inside and out, feeling my ovaries and cervix. "Hmm," she says, her brow furrowed. "Katniss, when was the last time you had a period?" she asks.

"Since before I was pregnant," I lie. She scribbles something in her clipboard. "But I probably won't have another one for a while anyway," I add.

"Why is that?" she asks, perplexed.

"Um, well, before we go in the Arena they give us these shots. After my first Games it was almost nine months before I started again," I mumble.

"They gave you that while you were pregnant?" she says, sounding shocked.

"Well, um, they didn't know I was pregnant," I reply.

"And you let them?" she responds incredulously.

"I didn't know yet, either," I stammer. It's true. We didn't make up the fake pregnancy until after.

"Then how did you know you were pregnant?" she presses. I stare at my hands. "Oh," she breathes. "Oh!" Clearly she fell for it, too.

"We were trying to stay alive," I murmur.

"I understand," she says quietly. "Does anyone else know?" I shake my head, batting tears from my eyes. "Okay. Well I'm just going to add some notes to your chart to reinforce your story. Just in case." I raise my eyes at her and she smiles again. Before I know what's happening, she steps forward and embraces me. I don't know why, I don't know how, but I melt into her. She strokes my hair like I'm a child.

"Thanks," I whisper into her jacket. She jots some things down in my chart.

"You are all set, Katniss. I'll let them know you've been cleared for duty. That's what you want, right?" I nod. "Okay, good. Then yes, you are cleared for duty." She leaves the room and I put my clothes back on. I don't know what just happened. I slip on my shoes and head back to Finnick's room.

He's in bed, tying knots into a small length of rope. He's been doing that for weeks now. I start opening his drawers and pulling things out.

"What are you doing?" he asks. I find some gray clothes and toss them on his bed.

"Come on, handsome, you're coming to training," I answer. His eyes flash. "You think you're going to save Annie in that condition? You think they'll let you come?" I see him debate the matter in his mind before he finally rises to his feet and pulls the pants over his legs. He drops the gown on the bed and tugs the shirt on.

Finnick follows me closely to the training center. He hasn't been out of his room much and doesn't know his way around. We're late, and we earn a number of stares from our classmates. I find Gale and smile, but his eyes are fixed on Finnick. The instructor leads us through the day's regiment. I'm slow to catch up. After the Arena and surgical recovery, my muscles have atrophied. My endurance has waned. I push myself hard, drenching my body in sweat. I only have two weeks to bulk for our mission.

Even after weeks of inactivity and the aftermath of electrocution, Finnick is still the star pupil of the class. He's naturally gifted. He runs effortlessly, he climbs rope with ease. Gale's stare never leaves him. I ponder the two of them for a minute. I wonder if Gale's jealous.

"You should get a compartment," I say to Finnick as we leave the training center. Gale is lingering behind and I wave him toward us. He jogs to catch up.

"Hey," he nods to Finnick.

"Hey," Finnick replies, offering a hand. "So this is the man that taught Peeta to swim in three feet of water. You'll have to tell me how that went," he smiles. Gale shifts uncomfortably but shakes his hand anyway. I notice he stands a little straighter, chest out. I hear a buzzing and Gale lifts his wrist. The communicuff is back. My eyes narrow.

"A reward for helping you come around," he says, but I just shake my head. More like a way to get us to jump on demand. They know he'll be with me all the time. They're using Gale to beckon me. I don't think he sees it that way. "We're wanted in Command." Gale and I leave Finnick and walk down the hall. We don't talk much. I'm tired.

"You're quiet," Gale states.

I know I am. I'm lost in thought. I just want to stop for one minute. I just want to breathe. I just want relief from this aching pain that resides in my chest where my heart used to be. Everything I do feels weird. Peeta's absence is so palpable. Eating breakfast without him. Showering without him. Regular, monotonous things that made up our routine feel weird without him. I realize that being with someone isn't about the excitement and fervor. It's about the boring parts that come in between. It's about picking his shoes up off the floor. It's about brushing our teeth and dodging heads to spit in the sink. It's about the sound of his breath next to me when I sleep. It's about dirty clothes and sweaty nights. It's about stealing sips of his coffee. Instead, every morning I wake up, and I remember. I remember he's not here, and it physically hurts, and all these little things feel weird.

"You okay?" Gale asks, watching my face.

"I'm just not in the mood for a meeting right now," I answer, but I go anyway, because Mockingjay duties mean I'm that much closer to putting an end to this pain.

When we enter Command, it's only Plutarch and Fulvia. They sit at the table with a large black binder between them. Gale and I take seats.

"You know what I miss more than anything? Coffee. We didn't think it would be quite so rigid here, at least not in the upper ranks," Plutarch states, and I want to punch him in the face. I feel like half of my body is missing, locked in a cell who knows where, but Plutarch misses coffee. "Oh well. Wars don't last forever. Anyway, we are so glad to finally have you on our team."

"You know in general what we're asking of you, Katniss," Fulvia states. "We're aware you have mixed feelings about participating. We thought this might help." She slides the notebook across the table. It's a sketch pad, bound in black leather. For a minute I wonder if it's Peeta's, but when I open the book it's immediately obvious who this belonged too.

"Cinna," I breathe. They've told me very little about Cinna. Weeks ago, Plutarch told me he was killed during an interrogation, right before he swat a fly buzzing on the table. I looked at its tiny body, crumpled and broken, and immediately left the room. But Cinna is alive here on the pages of his notebook.

"He made me promise not to give this to you until you decided to be the Mockingjay on your own," Plutarch says. I run my fingers over the sketches. The suit is strong, black, almost utilitarian, but upon closer inspection there's the sweep of the breast plate. The curve of the shoulders. The white exposed under my arms. It's delicate. Refined. Elegant. Once again, I am his Mockingjay. In this moment, I am certain this is what I'm meant to do. I turn the pages slowly, bringing him back to me and losing him all over again. A knot forms in my throat.

"You're going to be the best dressed rebel in history," Gale grins. I realize he's been holding out on me. Like Cinna, he's wanted me to be the Mockingjay all along. He just wanted me to decide for myself.

"And that's not all!" Fulvia squeals. I see Gale's face flinch and wonder what he'd be like around Effie, with all her twittering and flittering. I bury the thought. I have no idea where Effie is. My little family is broken into pieces. Effie is missing. Peeta is captured. Haymitch is indisposed. Cinna is dead. Portia is presumed murdered or captured.

Fulvia is clicking toward the door and turns back when she realizes we aren't following. "Come come!" she directs, and stamps forward. Gale and I follow, with Plutarch in the rear. I feel like District 13 is swallowing me whole as we descend into its belly. I can't even feel the elevator move, but I watch the floor numbers as we drop ten, twenty, thirty floors deep. The doors open on to a white hallway with bright red doors. It almost looks decorative compared to the gray tedium of the upper levels. A guard materializes through one of these caricaturish doors and strides swiftly to our group.

Plutarch steps forward to greet him, but something feels very wrong down here. It's too quiet. It's too empty. It smells like antiseptic and the lights glare just a flash too brightly. Before Plutarch can even begin speaking, the guard orders us away. "You have the wrong floor," he demands, pushing us back toward the elevator.

"Really?" Plutarch reads, adjusting his glasses. "It says three-nine-zero-eight right here," he points at the paper in his hand. I can see the room right in front of us. 3908. The numbers hang in brass metal on the handleless crimson door.

"You'll have to take it up with the Head Office on floor seven," the guard answers, when I hear a whimper. A tiny voice from behind the mysterious red door. A familiar voice. My eyes meet Gale's only for a moment, but it's long enough for two people who have spoken wordlessly for years. I drop Cinna's sketchbook to the ground, and the slam reverberates off the tile walls like thunder. The guard bends over to grab the book when Gale leans down too, intentionally bumping into him. It only lasts a few seconds, but it's enough time for me to dart around the distracted watchman and into the room.

I push the door marked 3908 open, and find them.

 _Half–naked._

 _Bruised._

 _Shackled to the wall._

 _My prep team._


	4. Chapter 4 - Prep

They are hardly recognizable. The cell smells of urine and waste. There's a drain in the middle of the room and my stomach turns. They huddle in the corner, petrified. Octavia shakes as she clings to Venia's shoulder. They look like shells of the people I knew. Flavius's corkscrew curls lay limp and matted. Octavia's light green skin hangs loosely on her emaciated body. I reach out my hand for hers, and she scrambles backward.

I look to Venia. She's always been the strongest of the three.

"What happened?" I ask softly. She clutches my hands like a vice, her fingers cold as ice.

"They took us. From the Capitol," Venia's voice breaks.

Plutarch appears in the door and his face twists. He nearly gags at the stench and digs a handkerchief from his pocket and puts it over his face.

"They were taken?" I snarl at him.

"It was Cinna's request that they be kept safe from the Capitol," Plutarch replies. Fulvia appears over his shoulder and the blood drains from her face upon sight of my team.

"I don't think this was what Cinna had in mind!" I growl. I turn back to them. "Come on. Come with me. I'm getting you out of here," I coo softly. They are slow to rise to their feet, muscles weak and atrophied. The metal shackles have worn into their skin and they flinch at the contact of their feet on the tile floor. "Get me the keys!" I bark, and Plutarch has an argument with the guard before he ultimately returns with a tiny metal key. I gingerly remove the chains, exposing raw and infected skin. My heart lodges in my throat. Octavia leans into me as I lead them out of the cell. Gale takes the other two and we return to the elevator.

My mother is horrified upon the sight of my team in the hospital ward. She lifts an eyebrow at me in question, and we both acknowledge that 13 may not be so different from those that oppress us from the Capitol. Gale sits next to me and puts an arm on my shoulder as I watch her find them beds. I turn to Plutarch, my words venomous.

"I guess we've all been put on notice," I say.

"What? No. What do you mean?" Fulvia stammers.

"Punishing my team's a warning. Not just to me, but to you too. Even a Capitol pedigree won't keep you safe down here," I say. Plutarch straightens his collar. "Where is she?" I ask, wrath churning below the surface.

"I have no idea," Plutarch replies.

"Where is she?" I ask again, my voice low. He shifts his weight.

"She's in the communications room," Fulvia answers. I'm on my feet.

"Katniss! Katniss!" Gale calls as he chases me down the hall. "I don't know if this is a good idea."

I storm down the corridor and around another corner. With each step my ferocity grows, until I'm nearly rabid. I don't bother knocking, I just slam the door open.

Coin is mid-sentence with one of the communications officers, but her words still when she sees me.

"What exactly did you think you were doing to my prep team?" I growl. Coin turns calmly to the officer and excuses herself. She folds her arms across her chest and looks at me, her face passive.

"The three committed numerous infractions of our sustenance and sustainability codes," Coin replies.

"They stole some bread," I spit out.

"Our survival is built on the preservation and equitable distribution of resources. Any infraction must be taken seriously," she justifies, but it only fuels the rage flaming within me.

"They were shackled to a wall until the skin on their wrists rotted away! They were left to piss in a drain, half-naked and covered in filth! You think that is an _equitable_ response?" My voice is raised, and I drop it to a hiss. My tone is sharp. Controlled. "We could pretend that you didn't know the depravity that was going on down there, but that makes you ignorant. Either that, or it occurred with your supervision, your direction even. So which is it? Are you ignorant or are you vicious?" The room is wholly silent as the entire communications staff watches me step toward her slowly. "You want a Mockingjay? I'll give you a Mockingjay. There is right and wrong in a war. And from here on out, we are going to be on the right side of things, you got it? Or there is no _we_. There is no _us._ " I stare at her. She glares back at me silently. "It doesn't happen again."

I turn my back on her and begin to leave, when her voice stops me in my tracks. I look back at her over my shoulder.

"Miss Everdeen," she says measuredly. Her diction has meaning. _Miss_ Everdeen. Not Soldier Everdeen. Not Katniss. She's reinforcing my inferiority. "I allow you your… outbursts… because we have a mutual goal. We need each other. Do not let your disruptions outweigh your value."

I drop my eyes to a small device that sits on a table by the door. My fingers run over it gracefully, until I pick it up and smash it on the floor. Whatever piece of communications equipment it was, it shatters into pieces. I see Plutarch and Fulvia watching from the entrance. I storm out past them and into the hall.

Gale is waiting for me and trails behind as I stalk down the hall and toward my room.

"Katniss! Wait up!" he calls, and I stop until he meets me. My feet resume their vehement pace toward my compartment. I want to close this world out. "Hey," he says softly, taking my arm. I stop again, staring at my feet. "Katniss, you might have really gotten yourself in trouble back there. Why would you care so much about your prep team? Was that worth it?"

My eyes dart up to him to see if he's joking. By the confused look on his face, I think the question is in earnest. "Why shouldn't I care about them?"

"I don't know. Because they spent the last year prettying you up for slaughter?" he suggests. To him, my prep team is just another Capitol villain.

"It's not black and white like that," I mumble. I miss Peeta. He's shown me how to see the grays, but I feel utterly isolated and alone in them. For a place where everything is gray – the walls, the clothes, the shoes, the people – they only see in black and white. "I know my prep team. They are not evil or cruel. Hurting them, it's like hurting children. They don't see… I mean, they don't know…"

"They don't know what, Katniss? That the tributes –the _actual_ children involved here – are going to fight to the death for the amusement of the Capitol? Is that some kind of big secret?" His tone is accusatory.

"They were trying to help me. They are my friends," I ramble.

"Your friends? You've never been so loose with that term," he quips.

"They… they took care of me when I was sick. They cried when I had to go back in the Arena," I assert. He scoffs. "Maybe I'm opposed to anyone being treated like that over a slice of bread. Maybe it reminds me a little too much of what happened to you over a turkey!" I spit back. It's a low blow. I know that.

"I'm not looking for a fight," Gale says, hands in the air. "But I don't think Coin was trying to send you some big message here. She probably thought she was doing you a favor."

A favor? My chest starts to heave and I stare down the hall. What kind of person calls depravity like that a _favor_? Who am I for them think that's I'd want that? My vision blurs and I resume the march to my room. I take foreign hallways with gray walls and no windows. I slam the door shut and leave Gale on the other side. I can hear him wait a while, but eventually he leaves.

That night my family moves compartments. We've been relocated to the top level of the bunker. Our new compartment has an eight-inch window to the outside that Buttercup will come and go through. 13 will waste no resources feeding him, but he can fend for himself outdoors. I don't tell Gale where I am. I don't go to dinner. I don't sleep. I may have really messed up today. If Coin doesn't see my _value_ as she put it, then she may not back the rescue mission. I feel sick.

The next morning I have a Mockingjay meeting with Plutarch. We are shooting the propo for Coin tonight. The one to prove to her the Mockingjay is worth the risk of saving the victors. I'm nervous and my hands tremble. Fulvia brings up my Mockingjay suit and another rebel suit for Gale. They aren't sure if they'll use him or not, but want him ready just in case. I ignore him.

I'm surprised to see my prep team so soon, but they insisted they do my remake. Their hands quiver slightly as they follow Fulvia's instruction to bring me back to Beauty Base Zero. The process takes hours, and they each have to take short breaks as standing too long leaves them shaky and winded. I follow them with my eyes and find my gaze shifting to Gale. How does he not see they are human beings? I try to remember I didn't always see them that way.

 _"People from the Capitol are real,"_ Peeta's voice rings in my head.

When my team finally finish, we break for lunch.

"Are they bringing your food here?" I ask.

"No, we are supposed to eat in the dining hall," Flavius says quietly. I imagine the stares they will gather.

"Okay, come with me then," I offer. Gale walks next to me but doesn't talk. My team trails behind, keeping their eyes on the floor. Their bodies look bony and frail under their gray uniforms. Venia has wrapped her aqua hair in a piece of gray fabric. I don't know if she's trying to blend in, but it makes me a little sad. Without all her make-up, I realize Octavia is younger than I thought. She's only a few years older than me, at most. I show them where to get their food and sit them next to me at a free table. Flavius fidgets with his napkin and lays it on his lap. I look around the room and catch covert stares and whispered murmurs. Some mouths are gaping open, others openly point. I scowl and wrap an arm protectively around Venia.

The people sitting at our table are from District 12, and while surprised, they are more comfortable with my prep team than the cookie-cutter residents of 13. Hazelle encourages them to eat, even though the slimy fish and creamed vegetables are unappealing. It's Posy, though, that helps the most. She scoots up next to Octavia and touches her skin with a sticky finger.

"You're green. Are you sick?" Posy asks.

"It's a fashion thing, Posy," I answer. "Like wearing lipstick." Posy nods her head and looks back at Octavia.

"It's supposed to be pretty," Octavia says, barely audible, but Posy smiles at her.

"I think you'd be pretty in any color," she grins.

Octavia offers a tiny smile. "Thank you," she whispers.

"If you really want to impress Posy, you should dye your skin bright pink," Gale jokes. He slips Octavia the side of carrots from his plate and smiles at me. He's trying to bridge a gap between us. I smile back.

After lunch, Gale and I are scheduled to go down to Special Defense to meet with Beetee. Finnick asked me if he could tag along, and Gale eyes him warily when he meets us at the elevator. Special Defense is a hive of rooms filled with weapons, computers, laboratories, testing ranges… I lose track. When we ask for Beetee, we are lead to the first and only beautiful thing I've seen in District 13.

Beetee's inside an underground meadow encased in glass. There is soft grass and real trees. Birds and insects flit in the air. There is a slight breeze and the sun feels warm on my skin. I know it's not the sun, it's a lamp or some fake thing, but I close my eyes and pretend for a moment I'm back home, in my own meadow. Except it isn't piled with the bodies of the dead.

Beetee sits propped in a wheelchair, watching a jade green bird flit above his head as it sips nectar from a flower. His eyes follow the bird until it darts away, and then he sees us and waves us over. He can walk very short distances, but he's mostly confined to wheeling from place to place.

"Aren't they marvelous?" Beetee explains. I have to agree. "13 has been studying their aerodynamics for years. Instant changes between backward and forward flight, incredible speeds. Do you think you could shoot a hummingbird, Katniss?"

"I've never tried. There's no real reason to kill a hummingbird," I answer. There's not much meat on them. They aren't parasitic. They don't kill plant life. Why would anyone kill a hummingbird?

"You could trap one, maybe," Gale offers. He describes a trap that lures the bird in with sweet nectar and then preys on its natural instinct to flee danger.

"Very clever. Thinking like your target. That's when you find their vulnerabilities," Beetee replies, and something irks my mind. I watch the two of them discussing ways to capture or kill this tiny little bird, and I remember watching Beetee's Games with Peeta. I remember Beetee, still a boy, connecting two wires and watching as the children that had been hunting him convulsed on the ground, their faces distorted in masks of pain. I think of Gale, sitting with the bomb trigger in the train station, blowing up the Peacekeeping force in District 12. He killed hundreds of people. They were the enemy, yes, but they didn't pose an immediate danger. They were fleeing. I realize they mustn't all have died immediately. I imagine some ran from the flaming train, skin ablaze. I imagine them falling in a grotesque dance of agony, dying in the street. Gale watching them. Was he remorseful? Or was he self-righteous?

It was in self-defense. We only killed in self-defense. Right?

Finnick slips behind me and puts a hand on my waist. "You okay?" he whispers in my ear, and I nod slowly. I turn back to Gale, who is staring at Finnick's hand. Finnick doesn't seem to notice, but I shift away from him.

Beetee reminds us he called us down for a reason, and we follow him through winding corridors and through multiple guarded checkpoints. They scan our fingerprints, retinas, and DNA before we are finally allowed entrance Special Weaponry. I chuckle to myself when I remember Finnick and my first night of planning. We talked about stealing weapons, hijacking a piloted plane, and flying into the Capitol on a renegade mission. Seeing how impossible it is to get a weapon in 13 now, it seems entirely preposterous. This trip reinforces why I need to prove to Coin this Mockingjay deal is worth it. I look at Finnick and we meet eyes. He's thinking the exact same thing.

"This, Katniss, is for you," Beetee says, and places a bow in my hands.

I slide my fingers along the cold, metal limb and it hums in my hands. "Hello," I whisper.


	5. Chapter 5 - Unscripted Responses

We make our way back up to the studio to meet Plutarch, Fulvia, and my team. My new bow buzzes in my hand. A sheath of dull, prop arrows is slung on my back. I didn't get to test any of Beetee's new inventions – incendiary, explosive, and standard arrows – but this weapon offers a whole new dimension to my place on a battlefield. Finnick had to leave his new trident behind, which propelled from his hand when thrown, increasing his deadly range. Gale's crossbow was almost like a militarized version of my weapon – less artistic, more sensible. But part of the Mockingjay is the image. Initially Beetee was told to make a prop based on Cinna's designs, but he made the bow come to life with lethal practicality.

Finnick follows us to the studio. He's not in the propo, but he's come for emotional support. He preps me on camera angles –where to look, how to stand, where to position my body, my head, my hands. He's been a Capitol puppet before. He knows the deal. When we arrive, Fulvia talks me through the feel of the film while my prep team paints on smoky eyes, sweeping liner, and contoured cheeks. I'm fitted into the Mockingjay suit and my heart clenches as they pierce my pin onto my breastplate.

"Cinna would be so proud of you," Venia whispers, and I swallow hard.

They have me stand in front of a green backdrop. I stare at it incredulously, but Fulvia assures me they can superimpose whatever they want on it. I read the slip of paper in my hand over and over. I know the line. I practiced it all night with Prim. I can tell be the way Plutarch and Fulvia presented it to me that they'd worked on this one line for weeks, maybe even years. This is to be the slogan of the rebellion. To me it sounds kind of foolish. No person would yell this on a battlefield. I guess it's not all that different from giggling like a little girl and prancing around in shiny dresses on the Tour. None it has been me. I sometimes wonder if Panem would even like the real me.

Everyone is looking at my image in one of the camera monitors.

"You look great, Katniss," Finnick smiles encouragingly. "They'll either want to kill you, kiss you, or be you." He steps forward and puts his hands on either side of my face. He drops his voice, although I'm mic'd and I'm sure they could listen back if they wanted to. "You can do this. Don't think about them. Don't think about anyone else. Get out of your head and just be you."

"I'm not all that impressive, Finnick," I whisper.

"I'm impressed," he whispers back. "You got this."

I hear Cinna in my head. _I'm still betting on you, Girl on Fire._

I can do this.

Finnick joins Plutarch in the sound booth, and Gale follows him inside. I stand awkwardly on the stage. Fulvia is adjusting the stage and primping my suit and changing the lighting and bossing around nearly everyone in the room until everything looks just as she wants it. She ducks inside as well. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing. I clear my throat.

"People of Panem!" I cry out.

"Not yet," a sharp tone comes over the intercom, and I feel stupid. It's quiet again. I look at the camera guy and he just shrugs. I wait for what seems like forever, and finally I hear Plutarch over the speaker. "Alright Katniss, whenever you're ready." I was ready ten minutes ago. Now I feel awkward.

I plant my feet and try to remember what Finnick told me.

"People of Panem! We fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice!" I shout out. My voice dies quickly, and the room is back to silence. There's static over the monitor and a voice I'm not expecting replies.

"That, ladies and gentleman, is how a revolution dies," Haymitch says in his normal acerbic tone. Haymitch and I exchange a few harsh words before I leave the studio. He's right. I know he's right. I can't pull this off. Coin will watch that video and laugh. If she knows how to laugh.

My chest heaves and in this moment, Peeta's absence is so vivid, so profound that I feel like I'm drowning. Like my lungs are filling with fluid. Everything about this place is so sterile and foreign and plain. I can't feel Peeta here. He's changed me. He's left me a different person, left me vacillating in a world of grays, but I can't feel him here. I find an empty utility closet and slam the door behind me. I try to find control in small spaces, but he's not in this closet either.

Gale opens the door slowly and follows me inside. He closes it behind him, dropping us back into blackness.

"I can't find him!" I breathe, my hands shaking at my side.

"Can't find who?" Gale asks.

"At least when I lost my father, I could put on his hunting jacket. I could walk to the woods, and I could find him out there. I could talk to him." My voice is trembling. I'm losing it. I'm losing it. "Peeta's never been here!" I sob, tears bursting through the walls I'd built over the last few weeks. "He's never been in Thirteen! He's never walked these halls, he's never slept in my bed, he's never been here!" I drop to my knees, my body racked with grief as I weep. "I can't find him," I cry. I cry for the weeks' worth of counterfeit strength I've been parading around. I curl into a ball.

I know Gale wants to come to me, but he's measured. He's not sure what line he's allowed to cross or not. I resent his feelings. I resent that he can't be my friend right now. There's a quick rap at the door and Gale looks at it, like he's not sure what to do.

"Katniss?" a familiar voice calls from the hallway. Gale twists the knob and I look up to find someone just as lost as me. Finnick. "Katniss," he says with empathy, and drops to the floor with me. He's on his knees and pulls me into his chest.

"I'm sorry," I hiccup. "I'm so sorry. Haymitch is right, that was not good enough! That was not good enough to save Peeta and Annie and Johanna. And now they are going to die there because of me."

"Shhh," he whispers, and I hear the door click close. We're alone. Finnick and I don't leave the closet for hours. We sit in the dark. He talks about Annie. How her auburn hair gets all over everything – his clothes, his bed, his shower. How he realized her hair isn't on anything here. How she is completely and totally absent from this place.

The next morning, it takes all of two minutes for Haymitch to convince everyone in Command that I can't pull this off. I can't figure out what he's getting at. He must want Peeta rescued as much as I do. I hate him, but I know he's not that cold. I know he loved Peeta, whether he was too drunk or stubborn to admit it or not.

He's gathered an odd group of us. Coin and her people – Boggs, Plutarch, Fulvia, a few other notable military officials. The remaining victors – me and Finnick and Beetee. My prep team. There's some people from 12 – Gale, Bristel, but then some others I really can't explain, like Leevy and Greasy Sae. There are refugees from across Panem, too. Dalton, from 10, who I met the first day I left the hospital ward. He's just as suspicious of 13 as I am. He told me they need us. That they had some epidemic a few years back that killed off a lot of the children and left many adults sterile. He thinks that's why they've finally come out of the woodwork. I don't know if that's true, but anyone who distrusts Coin can't have their head on totally crooked. There's also the doctor that refused to operate on me until I gave my consent. Haymitch is balancing the crowd.

Everyone is discussing the propo's failure. I look rehearsed. I look stiff. I look… fake.

"Alright, let's all be quiet for a minute. I want everyone to think of one time, one incident where Katniss Everdeen made you feel something. And not because she made a halfway decent shot with an arrow, or her dress went up in flames, and not because Peeta made you like her. One genuine moment where she moved you," Haymitch orders.

The room is silent. Too silent.

It's obvious my effect on people has been exaggerated, until Leevy quietly says, "When she volunteered from Prim, at the Reaping. I'm sure she thought she was going to die." I look at her and smile.

"Good. Good example," Haymitch says, and scribbles on the board _VOLUNTEERED FOR SISTER._ "Anyone else?"

I'm surprised when the next speaker is Boggs. I expected Coin's entire entourage to stay silent through this exercise. I forget they were here. They didn't just suddenly exist when I found out about them. They were living their lives. Watching the Games like the rest of us. "When she sang for that little girl," he says.

"Rue," I whisper.

"Yeah, when you sang for Rue. The lullaby," Boggs voice softens, and I wonder if he has a daughter that he sings goodnight to.

 _SONG FOR RUE_ Haymitch adds to the board.

"I cried when she drugged Peeta to save his life and kissed him goodbye!" Octavia blurts out, then covers her mouth like she's made a mistake. Her eyes dart to Coin and then drop to the floor.

"That's a great one," Haymitch says encouragingly to her, and for a moment I forget I hate Haymitch. He adds it to the board. The offers come fast and furious. Extending my hand to Chaff at the interviews. When Peeta and I saved the miners from the explosion. When I stepped in front of Gale during the whipping. When I nearly lost it over Finnick drowning. At that Finnick's eyes shift across the table to me. He doesn't know what happened when he was out, that I was desperate to bring him back.

The berries. The berries meant so many things to so many people. Undying love for Peeta. Relentless bravery. Defiance of the Capitol's inhumanity. Surmounting hopeless odds. I realize the berries meant so many things to me as well. It was never black and white.

"When she washed Wiress's hair," Beetee says quietly. "When she listened to her, instead of dismissing her. When she treated her with dignity, and not like she was some joke." Dignity is one of the few things the Capitol can't take from us, but we strip it from each other when we are dismissive. When we are cruel. When we don't remember that we are all human. I look to Venia and she is nodding. Venia's perspective on dignity has shifted in the last few weeks.

"So what do all these things have in common?" Haymitch asks.

"They were Katniss," Gale says. "No one was telling her what to say or what to do."

"Precisely!" Beetee agrees. "Unscripted responses."

"So you should just leave her alone, right?" Bristel asks, and there's a soft chuckle across the room. I even smile a little.

"Well, that's all very nice indeed, but not very helpful!" Fulvia quips. "Opportunities for being wonderful are quite sparse here in Thirteen, unless you have the preposterous idea of sending her into battle."

"That's _exactly_ what I'm suggesting," Haymitch says, and the group falls silent. Gale tenses in his seat. "You need to put her out in the field, and keep the cameras rolling."

The idea is controversial. People argue. Is the risk worth the reward?

"Even if we are careful, we can't guarantee her safety," Boggs inserts.

"I don't want a guarantee," I spurt out. "No one else in this war gets one. I want to go. I'm no help to the rebels here."

"And if you're killed?" Coin asks coolly.

"Then make sure to get it on tape," I reply.

The civilians are dismissed, and Command studies a map to determine the safest place that could inspire some spontaneity out of me.

"Take her into Eight this afternoon," Coin orders.

"And then the pardon can be done first thing in the morning," I add.

"Assuming the footage provides us an inspiring and useful tool, yes, I will make the announcement during Morning Reflection," Coin replies.

The rest of the room is dismissed, but Haymitch lingers behind. Gale stands warily at my side.

"Are you kidding me? I'm the one that needs a bodyguard," Haymitch says, and I tell Gale to leave. He squeezes my shoulder before filing out of the room.

Haymitch and I stand in silence. He looks at my face but I stare at the floor. I don't know what to say to him.

"I'm sorry," he starts, and the words I thought were lost bubble to the surface in an incongruous mess.

"I can't believe you didn't save Peeta," I spit out.

"I wanted to. It was always my intention to save you both," he starts.

"Really? Really? Because it seems to me the plan was to save me and that's it. Why was my prep team rescued and his left behind? Their quarters were right next to one another! They're dead, you know that right?" I fume.

"I don't know, Katniss," Haymitch starts.

"Where is Portia?" I ask, my words cold.

"I don't know," he says again.

"Seems like I wasn't the only one getting played," I reply, and for the first time I realize this isn't on him. Haymitch thought they were getting both his kids out. My face softens. "Oh, Haymitch," I breathe, and he looks at the wall.

"I wanted to get you both out," he says under his breath. We aren't affectionate people, but I lean forward and take his hand. He stares at my eyes – steady and even. He is sober. "Let's make this propo and get the boy back," he states, and I nod.

Let's get the boy back.


	6. Chapter 6 - The Hospital

We eat a hasty lunch. We are prepped and loaded onto a hovercraft before I even know what's happened. I'm introduced to our camera crew and find myself pleasantly impressed. All Capitol-born, they each defected and escaped to Thirteen to serve the rebellion. I wonder what's brought them here. _Everyone has a story,_ I remember Peeta telling me.

I try to go over everything in my head. I run my fingers over the armor Cinna crafted – sweeping yet durable plates that cover my vital organs, a hood that can be drawn up in the event of a gaseous attack. I adjust the ear piece Haymitch gave me, and I think back to our conversation in the hanger deck.

 _"We're still in the game, it's just another set of Gamemakers," I whisper coldly._

 _"Yes, and I'm still your Mentor. When you're on the ground, remember I'm airborne. I have a better vantage point than you. You have to listen to me," he says, pressing earpiece in my palm._

I touch the arrows in my sheath. Right side, fire. Left side, explosive. Center, normal. I dip my hand in my pocket and find the pearl lodged in place. I let it center me. One step closer, I think. Gale keeps his eyes straight forward. Finnick reaches out and grabs my hand, squeezing it tight.

"Finnick, did you complete your weapons check?" Gale asks.

"Yeah, I got it, kiddo," he replies back with a charming grin. He leans forward, uncomfortably close to Gale, and rests his chin on his hand. "How about you?" he asks, batting his eyes.

"Knock it off," Gale mutters.

"Why? Do you find me," Finnick provocatively licks his lips, "distracting?"

I look over and I find Boggs laughing to himself as he adjusts the tension on his vest. He's more human than I give him credit for. Finnick leans back next to me and rests his head against the wall. The flight to District 8 isn't long, but I find my hands fidgeting as I grow more anxious. I'm eager. I'm eager to actually help the rebellion. Not the people in Command back in 13, but the actual rebels. I'm anxious to fight by their side, to earn their trust, to hit back.

Coin assured us District 8 is the safest place to be. A Capitol bombing campaign wiped out all strategic military targets over the last few days and evacuated this morning. There is no reason to target 8. It's decimated. I wonder how spontaneous I can be in what they refer to as a "low risk environment," but it's better than being confined to a soundstage.

Plutarch gives an update on the status of the war as we fly toward District 8. At this point, all districts are in open rebellion against the Capitol save District 2, which is unsurprising given their favorable relationship with the Capitol. The goal is to take the districts, one by one, ending with District 2. Once all districts are securely in rebel control, we seize the Capitol. It all sounds good, in theory, but when I ask what kind of headway we are making securing the districts, Plutarch is less forthcoming.

"Well, the blow to District 8 certainly took us off guard. Our rebel troops are battling heavily in 9 right now, so the district was mostly undefended save for native revolutionaries and fighters," Plutarch states. "But it's only one battle, Katniss. Overall we've had success against the Capitol in other districts. We may be small and scrappy, but we know the land. We know the resources. They're on our turf," he adds.

I don't like how he says _our_ turf.

"Yeah, until we are on theirs," I answer. I need to stop being so negative. It's just hard to remain optimistic when I feel like half of myself is missing. Maybe if Peeta were dead I'd be filled with vengeful rage, but right now I see too many nuances.

"So what happens if we win?" Gale asks. "Who runs the government?"

"We do," Plutarch replies jovially. "The people." He explains about something called democracy. Not a new form of government, but something very old. Frankly, I don't think our ancestors are much to brag about, but Plutarch grins widely.

"And if we lose?" Gale asks again, his voice more serious.

"Well, then I imagine next year's Hunger Games will be a spectacle the districts will never forget," he replies. "Not that any of us would be alive to see it," he mutters. "Oh, that reminds me!" Plutarch reaches into his bag and removes a few deep violet pills from a vile. "We named them nightlock in your honor, Katniss. The rebels can't afford to have any of us captured alive."

I take the tiny capsule and hold it in my palm. I close my eyes and remember the berries, their poisonous juice staining my skin. The feel as they slipped past my lips. I feel a tap on my shoulder and Plutarch points out a pocket that I could tear away with my teeth, even if I was restrained.

Cinna's thought of everything.

The hovercraft descends into the outskirts of District 8. I try to remember what it looked like on the Tour. It was gray, the snow dirty with the stain of industry. This is where Snow beat Peeta. It seems fitting to return here. To stare at Snow from where he tried to knock us down. To spit in his face. I'll wave hello, and then I'll take Peeta back.

After the camera crew has prepped, we walk into town. We pass medics carrying in wounded on makeshift stretchers and homemade wheelbarrows. We find a large warehouse with an H painted sloppily over a doorway. We follow Boggs inside and find ourselves among broken human bodies.

This is where they plan on filming me?

"This won't work," I stutter. "I won't be any good here."

Boggs must see the panic in my eyes, because he stops in front of me and puts his hands on my shoulders. "You will. Just let them see you. This will do more for them than any doctor ever could."

"I can't give them anything," I sputter.

"You can give them hope. Like you've given me. Like you've given all of us," Boggs answers, and I look around at the team. They are all looking at me, nodding slowly. _You have no idea, the effect you have on people,_ I hear Peeta say.

"Okay," I nod.

The woman directing patients catches sight of us and does a double-take. She strides over. Her brown eyes are puffy with fatigue. Her skin is dark and shines with sweat, but her shoulders are broad, her frame muscular. She has a bandage wrapped around her neck that smells putrid and should have been changed days ago.

"This is Commander Paylor," Boggs introduces her. "Commander, Soldier Katniss Everdeen." I offer my hand and she stares at it.

"I know who you are. So you're alive then? We weren't sure," she answers, with a hint of accusation in her tone. She's bloodied and dirty, and I look like I just walked off a Capitol runway. I feel foolish in my shiny armor.

"I'm still not sure myself," I answer.

"She's been in recovery," Boggs adds. "You saw the Games. It took multiple surgeries to get her back to battle ready. It's been a long road, but she insisted on stopping by to see your wounded."

"Well, we've got plenty of those," Paylor says, lifting a curtain and exposing the vast warehouse. Lined along a wall, shielded by a flimsy sheet hung as a curtain, are piles of dead corpses. Paylor sees my eyes dart to them, and she tells us they are working on a mass grave, but cannot sacrifice the manpower.

My hand zips to my best friend. "Do not leave my side," I tell Gale before shooting a look to Finnick. He flanks my other side, offering distance between my body and the human wreckage.

"Do you think it's a good idea? Compiling all your wounded like this?" Gale asks.

"I think it's slightly better than leaving them to die in the field," Paylor answers.

"That's not what I meant," Gale mutters to himself.

I turn toward the medic area and my senses are assaulted. The stench of soiled linen, decaying flesh, sick, and infection all fill the air and make it hard to breathe. They've propped open skylights but it doesn't help with the smell, the heat, the sound of muffled sobs from those in pain and those grieving. It infests my ears like a bilious choral cacophony.

 _I catch Paylor watching me so closely, waiting to see what I'm made of, and if any of them have been right to think they can count on me._

I take a step forward away from the boys, raising my hand. Their feet still and they let me move ahead.

"Katniss?" A voice croaks out. I look down and see a small boy, no more than ten, staring up at me with wide, hopeful eyes. "Is it really you?" he asks, bewilderedly stretching out his hand. His face is caked with blood, but it doesn't belong to him. I see a young woman lying beside him, moaning softly in her sleep.

"It's me," I manage.

Joy. His mouth stretches into a smile, his voice lifts. "We weren't sure you were alive. People said you were, I said you were, but we didn't know."

"I got pretty banged up, but I got better," I say, kneeling down to him. "Is that your mom?" I ask. He nods. "You look like you were such a brave boy. Did you bring her here all by yourself?" He nods again. "That was very heroic of you."

"I'm not a hero, not like you," he babbles, a blush evident on his dirty cheeks.

"You are to me," I whisper. "You are to her."

He stares back at his mom and holds her hand. I hear my name rippling throughout the air. "It's Katniss! It's Katniss Everdeen! It's the Mockingjay!" they chime and repeat. The sounds of misery subside, and are replaced by those of wonder and astonishment. Boggs was right. Hungry hands reach toward me, and I let them touch my arms, my back, my body. It's all I can offer, and it's theirs. I'm not the makeup clad girl in the sound studio. I'm a warrior covered with scars. I've known pain, just like these people. I am one of them. It's all I've ever wanted to be, since I've known about the revolution. This is where I belong.

"Do they still have Peeta?" one woman asks, and I nod silently. I can't say the words. She reaches her hand out, weaves her fingers in mine. She knows. She doesn't need to say more.

"Katniss, what about the baby?" another asks.

"I lost it," my voice breaks, and I hear murmurs of sorrow, and offers of encouragement.

"Did Finnick come with you?" a man asks, pointing to the back.

"Yes. Yes, he's my friend," I add, and they smile. We are not isolated by district anymore. Those facades have fallen. It's all of us. All of us versus the Capitol.

"Why did Peeta hit you?" another voice cries out.

"I was being stubborn," I laugh through tears, and they laugh with me. "He knew I wouldn't leave him, and he wanted me to be rescued. He saved me. And Finnick. And Beetee."

"But the Capitol got him?" someone else asks, and I nod.

"Well, go get him!" a woman cries out, and I smile through my tears. They believe in me. They believe in me to do the impossible. They make me think that maybe I can. That maybe this won't be the suicide mission I'm sure it is. I ask about their families. I ask about their friends. I ask about their homes. I hold the hands of the unconscious, I comfort the mourning. I honor their dead. I finally understand that this struggle, which has felt solitary and isolating, was not mine alone. I am not the only story.

A new feeling overtakes me as I stand at the exit, waving goodbye. Power. I have the power to lead. I have the power to rise up. Snow knows it. Plutarch knows it. Coin knows it. And now I know it, too. I will find a way to help these people. I will find a way for us to fight back, together.

By the time we leave the hospital, I'm emotionally drained. Finnick wraps his arms around my neck. "That was really good, Katniss." Gale nods in reassurance.

Boggs offers me a canteen of water, which I gulp down sloppily. "Katniss, you were great in there," he smiles.

"I didn't do much," I reply.

"You did enough," he says back. I decide I like Boggs.

"We got some really good footage in there," our director, Cressida, says with her eyes still glued to a loop on a monitor. I have to trust this woman to cut this together, to find the power I felt in there and share it with the nation. To convince Coin to save Peeta.

Gale slides beside me, an impish grin on his face. "I can't believe you let all those people touch you. I kept expecting you to make a break for the door," he teases. I laugh and shove his arm. "Your mother's going to be so proud of you when she sees that, Katniss." My chest swells a little.

Boggs's posture suddenly stiffens and our eyes all jump to him.

"What is it?" Gale asks.

"Incoming bombers."


	7. Chapter 7 - Propos & Promises

The sky is crystal blue. I don't feel an imminent threat, but we take off running down an alley toward the airstrip. My mind starts racing. A siren begins to wail and a small group of people flood the streets, taking position. Some appear on rooftops, others on the ground. Within seconds, a low flying fleet of Capitol bombers soars down the street, the roar of their jets deafening any thoughts in my mind.

The bombs begin to fall. I'm thrown against the ground and I feel a searing pain in the back of my leg. Whatever it was, it hit my back as well, but the armor has dulled the impact. I feel Boggs drop on top of me, shielding my body with his own as bomb after bomb slams into the district.

"Katniss," I hear Haymitch in my headset. "We've got to get you out of there unseen."

Then Plutarch's voice comes over the speaker, calm and clear. It's obvious this Gamemaker's wit sharpens under duress. "About three blocks up is a warehouse with a bunker in the northeast corner. Can you get there?"

"We'll have to try," Boggs replies.

"You've got maybe forty-five seconds before the next wave," Plutarch orders, and we take off running. Whatever hit me is still lodged in the back of my leg and slowing me down, but no one passes me. Boggs stays in front, leading the way, and the rest of the crew surrounds my body, forming some kind of human shield. We can see the bunker in the near distance when the next wave of bombs hit. This time Gale drops on top of me, shielding my body from angry shrapnel and debris. I roll on my side and our eyes meet, and for a second it's just him – his face red with effort, his pulse slamming in his temple. My best friend.

"You alright?" he asks, his gray eyes on mine.

"Yeah, I'm okay. It doesn't seem like they are following us," I state.

"We're not the target, no," he replies.

"What are they bombing, then? There's nothing strategic back there. There's only…" My stomach twists inside my body, a visceral reaction to an inevitable conclusion. They're bombing the hospital. Gale is on his feet.

"They're bombing the hospital!" he cries out.

"Not our concern," Boggs answers. "We need to secure the Mockingjay's safety. We need to proceed to the bunker."

In my ear, Haymitch bursts in. "Katniss, don't you even think about–," but I tear the earpiece out before he can add anything further. I bolt outside and find an access ladder. I feel Gale behind me, pushing me toward the roof.

"Don't stop!" he yells, and I hear some kind of scuffle below. I look back and see Boggs on the ground, Finnick rolling on top of him.

"Go! Go!" Finnick yells, and Gale and I hop the ledge. We bolt for a row of machine guns mounted on the roof. We skid to a stop, and Paylor turns away from her post to face us.

"Boggs know you're up here?" she asks.

"He sure does," I answer truthfully, although I'm certainly not acknowledging that he wants me back on the ground.

"Alright then. You know how to work these?" she asks, gesturing to the spare artillery on the roof.

"We've got our own weapons," I answer as the roar of jets takes over my voice. We kneel behind the row of guns and take position.

"FIRE FIRST?" Gale shouts over the din, and I nod my head and load an arrow. If we miss our target a fire can be put out, but an explosive arrow may cause more devastation than the bomber would have. They appear overhead, maybe a hundred yards above us. Seven warplanes with shining Capitol seals, flying in a V.

"GEESE!" I shout to Gale, and we need to no further words. We devised a hunting strategy for migrating birds years ago to assure we don't aim for the same target. We apply it here. I aim for a plane on the rear of the far side and slam an arrow into its wing. It bursts into flames. Gale just misses the lead plane, and his arrow crashes down into a warehouse, which bursts into flames. He curses under his breath, and the planes fly out of sight.

"They'll probably sweep two or three more times, but you can expect more fire on us now that they perceive a threat," Paylor yells back to us. We hear the familiar roar overhead as they come back around.

"I'm standing!" I shout, and push myself to my feet. I pull an explosive arrow and load my bow. Now I'm angry. The planes swoop overhead and bullets fly at my feet, but I stand steady. I hear my father. _Focus. Aim. Breathe._ I narrow my eyes, calculating the velocity and lead time of the jet in my head. I breathe out and let my arrow fly. It slams into the head plane, which explodes in a violent eruption of flames. The planes on its immediate flanks crash into the wreckage, and the three jets plummet to the earth. Debris peppers the rear planes, which disperse in a hasty retreat.

I turn around and find the camera crew fixed on me. I assumed they'd still be down in the alley, hunkered for protection in the bunker. Instead, here they are on the roof, armed only with a camera, risking their lives to show Panem the rebels are fighting back. They are here to tell a story. To tell the truth.

"The hospital," I breathe, and take off running across the roof and down the ladder. When I reach the ground, I see the hospital in ruins, smoldering with flames, collapsed in on those taking refuge. I think of the little boy who saved his mom. The woman who held my hand. I charge for the burning building and Finnick wraps me in his arms. "It's too late, Katniss. It's too late." I hammer his chest with my fists, but I don't break down. I kindle this hurt into fury. A quiet, controlled fury. Gale is at my shoulders but does nothing. His inaction only confirms our suspicions. Miners don't abandon an accident unless it's hopeless.

"Katniss," I hear from behind me, and Cressida points at one of the cameras. "President Snow just had them air the bombing live. He made an appearance to say it was a message to the revolutionary forces. Do you have anything you want to say to the rebels?"

"Yes," I breathe, and then I find the camera and say more forcefully, "Yes." Everyone draws away from me, giving me the stage. My eyes turn dark as coal. I know where I'm from. I know who I am. And I know what I have to say. I've found my Mockingjay song.

"I want the rebels to know I am alive. That I'm here in District Eight, where the Capitol has just bombed a hospital full of unarmed men, women, and children. There will be no survivors. I want to tell the people that if you think for one second the Capitol will ever treat us fairly, then you are deluding yourselves. Because you know who they are and you know what they do." I point to horror that surrounds all of us. " _This_ is what they do. And we must fight back!" I step toward the camera, each step shaping the anger into intent. "President Snow says he's sending us a message? Well, I have one for him. You can torture us and bomb us and burn our districts to the ground, but do you see that?" I point at a fallen warplane, the emblem of the Capitol melting into the flames. "Fire is catching! And if we burn, you burn with us!" My words hang in the air. I turn away from the camera and look at the hospital. I let the pain of it overwhelm me.

"Cut!" I hear Cressida cry out, and the camera drops.

Coin and her team view the preliminary propo that night. It's undeniably powerful. She shuts off the television and looks at me. Under the table, Finnick slips his hand in mine. I watch Gale's jaw clench slightly.

"It's very good. It's very _very_ good. We will issue the pardon in the morning, and the rescue mission will be launched by the end of the week," Coin says, and I feel like I can breathe for the first time since I lost him. Finnick grins widely. "You, however, will not be participating," she adds.

"Yes, I am!" I state.

"You've obviously demonstrated your importance to the rebellion today, Soldier Everdeen. The Mockingjay is an invaluable asset. We cannot risk losing you to what will likely be an unsuccessful mission," Coin retorts.

"Get it on tape, then. Film us," I demand, but she shakes her head.

"You will be too volatile. Too emotionally compromised. There's a reason a surgeon won't operate on his child, there's a reason we discourage nepotism and relations within the ranks. Snow lords Peeta over you like a fish chasing a worm on a hook. Make no mistake, the Capitol is a hook. It will gut you," she says. I start to speak, but she cuts me off. "Do you want him back or not?"

"I want him back," I whisper. I'm losing this battle.

"You've never proven yourself to be particularly stable. You fly off the handle at the bat of an eye. You have a temper tantrum anytime something doesn't go your way. I have to continually remind myself that you are just a child, and I shouldn't hold you to higher expectations than that," Coin replies. I am seething, but I remain in my seat. She's egging me on. She's trying to prove her point. She wants me to have an outburst.

Instead, I lean forward. I keep my eyes locked on hers, my voice cool. "And I have to continually remind myself people only do what you say because they've never known anything other than this." I shift my attention to the room. "The rebels want me to rescue Peeta. They follow me because I've defied unwinnable odds. Do you know what it would do for the cause if I stormed the Capitol and took him back? What kind of image that would give them? It would mean nothing is unachievable. It would mean never stop fighting." I stand, and my eyes drop to Coin. "Like I said before, the only way you stop me from going to get Peeta is by locking me up in a cell. And I'd love to see how that bodes with the rebels. I'd love to see who follows you then."

She glares at me. I stand and I walk out of the room.

The next morning, during reflection, the entirety of 13 gathers in the Collective, a massive room for general assembly. Only those whose work is vital to the minute-to-minute operations of the district are excused. Finnick finds me in the crowd and squeezes my hand.

"Thank you," he whispers.

"For what?" I ask.

"For including all the victors, not just Peeta. I worry about Annie. That she might say something that could be construed as traitorous without even realizing it. Thank you for protecting her when I can't." He says that last part to the floor.

"I couldn't have done any of this without you," I answer, and I truly mean that. He understands what is happening. I find him at night, wandering the halls. We talk for hours about Peeta and Annie, and we don't look at each other with that sad, pathetic expression of pity everyone else gives us. We laugh at each other's stories. We remember them.

"When we were in the Arena, you were supposed to keep me alive, right?" I ask.

"Yeah," he answers.

"Then why did you save Peeta?" I ask.

"Officially?" he says, eyebrow cocked. "Officially the thought was you would refuse to ally with anyone but Peeta. And that even if you did, eventually you'd leave us, and he'd be the only one to protect you. He couldn't do that if he was dead."

"And unofficially?" I ask.

"Peeta's different. Like Annie. They aren't like the other victors. They aren't…" Finnick struggles to find the word, but a bustle tells us the announcement is about to start.

Words are another thing that are not wasted in 13. Coin gets right to the point. She tells the people of 13 I've agreed to become their Mockingjay, provided there is a genuine effort to rescue the captured victors. Should any treasonous actions be uncovered, for example, the disclosure of rebel secrets or participation in Capitol propaganda, the victors will be given unconditional immunity, regardless of the outcome of their traitorous activities. She doesn't mince words. It's almost as if she's sewing mistrust of the victors throughout 13. We don't even know if they've said anything, and she's painting them out to be criminals. Peeta hardly even knew the rebellion existed. I worry she's targeting Johanna.

"In return for this unprecedented request for blind immunity, Soldier Everdeen has promised to devote herself to our cause. It follows that any deviance from her mission, in either motive or deed, will be viewed as a break in the agreement. The immunity will be terminated and the fate of the victors shall be determined by the law of District Thirteen. As would her own. That is all. Thank you," Coin concludes, and leaves the stage without grandeur.

In other words, I step out of line, and we are all dead.

I storm through the crowd and pound my way up to my compartment. Finnick stays by my side, arm around my shoulder. His new compartment is only a few down from mine, so I walk him to his door. He gives me a hug before he goes inside. We both need some time to process. He's worried what Coin's threat will mean for Annie. I hear footsteps behind me and turn to find Gale.

"Coin is unbelievable!" I say to him, wringing my fingers through my hair.

"Well, you didn't leave her much of a choice," Gale answers back, and I stare at him.

"Excuse me?" I scoff.

"I just mean you put her in a bad position. Making her give Peeta and the others immunity when we don't even know what sort of damage they might have caused," he replies.

"They wouldn't even be in this position in the first place if she hadn't abandoned them in the Arena!" I shout at him. I'm yelling in the hallway. Fantastic. I grab his shirt and drag him into my compartment. It's empty. My mother and sister are in the hospital ward.

"Katniss, she's running the district. She can't do it if it seems like she's caving to your will," Gale says.

"You mean she can't stand dissent," I answer.

"All you've done since you got here is undermined her authority. You storm out of meetings, you yell at her in front of her peers. You look like a child," he spits out. Well isn't this familiar criticism? It's like Coin's standing in my room. "The least you could do is show her a little respect."

"I don't respect her. You saw what she did to my prep team. She doesn't deserve respect, and I'm not the only one that thinks so," I counter.

"Oh, I'm sure your bronzed boyfriend is eager to agree with you," Gale snaps back, and I glare at him.

"What did you say?" I ask, my voice low.

"I get it, Katniss. Peeta's not here. But I'm not even your second choice? Instead you choose to fill the void with… with… some Capitol whore?"

Before I know what I'm doing I slap him hard across the face. Gale falls back a step, his hand clasping his cheek. "Get out," I growl.

"Catnip, I'm sorry," he starts.

"Don't call me that," I murmur.

"I'm so sorry," Gale pleads, but it's too late. His words hang in the air around me, spitting accusations. "I didn't mean that, I just…"

"Get. Out."

He retreats through the door and I slam it behind him.

 **A/N: The fire is catching speech is a direct copy/paste from Suzanne Collins. It's beautiful, and I couldn't bear to change a word.**


	8. Chapter 8 - Sleep, Peace, Death

The next couple days are a blur. I go from training to meeting to propo. Gale's with me everywhere as part of the Mockingjay deal, but I mostly ignore him. After a while he stops accompanying me, and instead spends hours with Beetee down in Special Weaponry. I want to focus solely on the rescue mission, but leadership keeps whisking me off for one thing or another. Cressida needs me to do some voiceover work for some of the footage from 8, and I feel silly sitting in the studio reading into a microphone, watching my own lips on camera and trying to match my pace to my mouth.

Fulvia has been particularly sour since her studio propo failed. I mostly dismissive of her pouting, but in one meeting she has a genuine stroke of genius – _We Remember_ , a series of propos targeting the individual districts, highlighting their fallen tributes. Rue. Mags. Remind everyone what we are fighting for. She blushes when we all respond encouragingly. She's acting… modest? Maybe this war is changing Fulvia, too.

I agree to go on a day trip to 12. We can start some of the _We Remember_ pieces from 12, and Cressida wants to film the ruins to show Panem what the Capitol did here. They're sending Gale, too. He's become more popular among the rebels. After he blew up the train station, saved the refugees from 12, and then took a prominent role in the first propo, the Mockingjay's cousin is becoming a hero in his own right. We don't speak on the hovercraft, but once we land in 12, the anger that radiates between us seems to dissipate into thin air. Among the dead, our quarrel seems petty. Gale's eyes cloud over as he searches the ruins of our district.

Cressida has him recount the night of the firebombing. He tells the story, his voice soft and reverent to the horror. He tells of the blaring sirens telling people to shelter in their homes. Then the power went out and the district fell into darkness. When the fires started, people didn't know how to respond. They hid in closets until their houses came crashing on top of them. If they could run, they did. If they couldn't, they burned. We lost our very young and our very old. We lost those who stayed behind to help others and those that couldn't leave their loved ones. He tells of women covering their children with their bodies. Infants crying on deaf ears. Gale tells about how he ran past a man who was carrying a small girl, maybe three or four-years old. A steel bar had crashed down and pinned him to the ground. He begged Gale to take his daughter, and Gale scooped her from his arms and left the man to die. He carried the girl for miles into the woods, until his arms trembled as much as she did. He looks out over the town, at the broken bodies and buildings.

"This was my home," he exhales, looking out over what was once our meadow, a field of beauty. Now it's ashen and piled with unrecognizable bones. I look out and in a small patch of dirt, next to the mostly skeletal remains of someone I'm sure I knew, is a blood red flower bursting from the earth.

 _"It's a poppy, Katniss," my dad says. I lean to pick the flower and he grabs me by the hips and swings me playfully in the air. "We don't pick poppies," he whispers, tickling my belly. I curl in his arms, laughing._

 _"Why not?" I ask._

 _"Because poppies mean something. They mean sleep. They mean peace. They mean death. We don't pick poppies," he tells me. He places my feet on the ground and kneels in front of the flower. His voice is soft and low, and in the trees the mockingjays silence their song in favor of his. "In battlefields fields the poppies grow."_

"In battlefields the poppies grow," I sing softly to myself.

"What?" Cressida asks, turning her head to me.

 _"In battlefields the poppies grow  
Between the graves lined row on row,  
On row, on row, on row, on row,  
That mark our place, and in the sky,  
The larks, still bravely singing, fly,"_

I breathe. Cressida is quiet, and I feel the cameras move to me.

 _"Scarce heard amidst the guns below.  
Scare heard amidst the guns below."_

I didn't understand then, the picture my father was painting. A bird singing out in the sky, their song buried by gunfire. The people in the dirt, their bodies buried by war. My voice grows stronger, and I hear the mockingjays in the trees go still.

 _"We are the dead.  
We are the dead.  
Short days ago we lived, felt dawn.  
We lived, saw sunset glow.  
Loved and were loved,  
And now we lie  
And now we lie  
And now we lie  
In sprawling fields."_

These people were alive. The people at my feet were alive. Days ago, they were alive. They knew breath and light and dark. I look at the wreckage. The devastation. This is why we fight. This is why we push back.

 _"Take up our quarrel with the foe.  
To you from failing hands we throw,  
We throw the torch; be yours to hold it high."_

I look at the fallen. We made a promise to them. No more. Not another child shall be reaped. Not another district shall be burned to the ground. We will carry the torch handed to us by those we lost and left behind.

 _"If you break faith with us who die,  
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow  
In empty fields."_

The last line sticks in my throat. It's ominous. The dead will not rest until the all of us are free.

I look over and see Pollux crying. I take his hand and squeeze it tight. His mouth pinches, as if to speak, but he remains silent. I look at the slack of his jaw and I can't believe I didn't realize it sooner. He's an Avox. I wonder why a macabre song about the yearnings of the dead moves him. I wonder who he lost. _Everyone has a story, Katniss._

"Cut!" Cressida yells, and I remember this isn't a moment shared between two people who have experienced loss. It's a moment shared by thousands.

"Where did that come from?" Plutarch glows, thrilled.

"My dad used to sing it to me when I was a little girl," I murmur. "It's an old war song, from before the Dark Days."

"I couldn't script this stuff better. You're golden, kid. Golden!" Plutarch cheers, putting his hands on my cheeks. It snaps me back to reality and I step out from his grip. He doesn't seem to notice or care.

We walk to Victor's Village as Plutarch talks Cressida's ear off about the song – how to produce it, how to cut it, how to shape it. She nods indulgently, although I know behind closed doors she will craft it however she sees fit.

We stop in front of my house. I didn't go in last time. I hesitate in front of the door before I cross over the threshold. I let out a shaky breath as I walk from room to room. Everything looks the same, but stale. There is no life here. No one would mistake this house for a home. I collect some things for my family. Herbs, medicines. A portrait of my parents' wedding. My father's hunting jacket. I linger in the kitchen for a while alone, and Gale steps inside. He's quiet.

"You okay?" I ask.

"I knew this would be hard, but… It's like my throat is full of ash. Like I'm breathing them in." His eyes swell with tears and he looks away from me. I drop the pretenses for a moment. I cross the room and wrap my arms around his neck. This was our home. This is our loss. We stand there for a long time, until Plutarch comes in and tells us we are heading to the hovercraft. I watch Gale through my periphery. He sits himself up straight, adjusting his uniform. His momentary lapse to humanity is over. The soldier is back. The farther we get from 12, the farther I push myself away from Gale in my seat.

When I get back to 13, I drop everything off at my compartment. I prop up my parents' wedding picture next to my mother's bed. I run my thumb over my dad's chest, and I feel an ache take residence in mine. Would he be proud of me, if he were alive now? Or would he be disappointed? I know some of the criticism I've earned is not unwarranted. I'm stubborn, and defiant, and my emotions are erratic. I should have better control, but I don't. I never used to run off at the mouth. If anything, I was stoic. Despondent. Uncooperative. But now I'm outright rebellious. I am doing the best I can. Sometimes I wonder if I should still have the hospital bracelet that labels me as _mentally disoriented_.

What I want to do is spend my days in the bottom of a closet, counting pieces of chalk and letting my mind go blank until I can't feel anything. Until I stop thinking about him, about the steadiness he brought to everything. I want to shut this world out. Instead I force myself to go to training, I force myself to go to meetings. I force myself to breathe and eat, when every step of normalcy feels like a betrayal to the grief in my chest. I am on the brink of unravelling, and the only reason I'm holding any of it together is that I know if I'm going to rescue Peeta, I need as much mental acuity as I can muster.

I have to go on the rescue mission. I don't trust Coin to save him.

I shake my hands and try to regain some control, but when I open the door to the hallway, Gale is standing outside.

"Katniss–" he starts, but I raise my hand.

"I can't right now." I go to close the door again and he catches it with his hand.

"Look, I –"

"We're not okay!" I sputter. "What happened in Twelve does not mean we are better. We share a loss, but we are not better." He starts to protest, but I cut him off. "I love you, Gale. I will always love you, but not the way you want me to. And not like this," I say, gesturing to his uniform and straight posture and communicuff. "I'm a puppet because I have to be. What's your excuse?" I utter, and walk past him. That was almost too cruel, and regret twinges in my stomach. I stop at Finnick's door and look back at him. "When you can be my friend, when you can be _Gale_ , come find me. But I have no interest in Soldier Hawthorne."

"Catnip, if we could just…"

"Please don't call me that anymore," I say quietly, my voice defeated. I hear him walk away and enter Finnick's room. I close the door behind me and lean back, close my eyes, and breathe.

"You alright?" Finnick asks. He's sitting cross-legged on his bed.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I say, and sit next to him. I try to push Gale from my mind but I feel myself slowly deteriorating without his friendship. I focus on Finnick. We're discussing strategy. We learned today the victors are being held in the basement of the Tribute Center. Finnick and I are at a distinct advantage. We know the floor plans, we know the area. The blueprints Beetee hacked out of the Capitol mainframe are woefully out of date. We start etching out a map of the building, adding everything we can remember. Heating ducts, emergency stairwells, closets. I'm mentally exhausted, and I stretch my body and lean back against the wall.

"You remember a utility stairwell there?" I ask, pointing to the far corner of the training room. He nods. "It just doesn't make sense because all the other stairwells were on the north wall." We stare at it, and quickly realize this is not an emergency exit. I sit up. "That's where they are."

"That's where they are," Finnick echoes, staring at the map. We set the drawing aside. We need to stew on this before the meeting in the morning. My mind races. "The new propo is supposed to air tonight," Finnick says, and turns on the television. Sure enough, my face is on the screen. This propo is cut to focus on the "we know who they and we know what they do" line. They toggle between shots of the action in 8 and glimpses of 12 in ruins. Landscapes, nothing with dialog, but it's enough. When the screen goes black, my stomach feels queasy. Finnick is just about to shut the television off when the screen flashes again, only this time, the anthem of Panem blares. My throat nearly closes.

Caesar Flickerman is seated in a familiar room with Peeta across from him. I look at Peeta and my skin feels hot. Very hot. My hands pool with sweat. Peeta's physical transformation rocks me to the core. The healthy, clear-eyed boy I saw just days ago has vanished. In his wake is a shell of a man. He's lost fifteen pounds, easily, and he was already lean from the Quell. They have him dressed in fine linens, but it's like using silk as a bandage - it doesn't hide that underneath the suit is a badly damaged person. He sits off center, leaning slightly, and I know that look. His rib is shattered again. I remember him trying to breathe, the hiss of air through his teeth. His face is gaunt and covered with make-up. It's like a funeral, like they've dressed up a corpse.

My mind reels. This is impossible. He couldn't look like this after just days. And then I realize… I just assumed the last propo was live. It was probably filmed the day of his capture. It was weeks ago. This isn't days of pain and suffering, it's weeks on end. I can't see straight.

Caesar and Peeta share a few empty exchanges. Peeta has a nervous twitch and he struggles to stay focused on even the most minute details. Whatever resolve Peeta had to hold up to Caesar's suggestive questions in his last interview has shattered. He seems disoriented. I'm not even sure he understands he's being filmed.

"Have you heard Katniss has been taking part in propaganda for the rebel cause? Have you seen them?" he asks.

Peeta shakes his head in quick little jerks. "They're just using her," he mutters. It's negative, yes, but not entirely untrue.

"It's okay," Finnick whispers to me. "We have the pardon. It doesn't matter what he says."

It does matter, that's the problem. The rebels care about what Peeta thinks. The pardon is useless if we don't win the war.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell Katniss?" Caesar asks, gesturing to the cameras.

Peeta lifts his eyes directly into the camera, right into my eyes. "Katniss, do you trust these people? Do you really know what's going on? Think for yourself. Think…" It's all he can really say before he drops his eyes to his hands.

"Well, I think that's very good advice, Peeta. What do we know about the rebel leaders? Hardly anything at all. It seems to me they might be using the people in the districts to serve their own agenda, just like they are using Katniss Everdeen," Caesar adds, and Peeta nods. Caesar makes a few more flagrant accusations, and a Capitol seal flashes before the screen goes black.

"We didn't see it," Finnick says quickly.

"What?" I ask.

"They'll be here any minute to check on you, you know that. They know we're working on plans tonight," he says. I stare at the schedule on my arm. _19:00 Strategy with Solider Odair_. In no time there is a hasty knock on the door. Plutarch and Fulvia have arrived with fake smiles and a fake air of ease. Finnick walks them through our sketches so far, and there is no mention of Peeta, the propo, or Snow. Seemingly satisfied, they leave.

I go back to my room and try to sleep, but the dark is filled with Peeta's screams – his skin bruised, his hair shorn off, his muscles decaying, his bones snapped violently. My mother and sister have been pulling the same overnight shift in the hospital ward. I scream through the nights, and I suspect part of their decision is that they can sleep during the day when I'm in training. Prim takes most of her classes in the evening, and 13 seems more than willing to accommodate her. They recognized her brilliance immediately. People like Prim will save lives.

I wander down the hall and knock quietly on Finnick's door. I'm not surprised he's awake. He holds out his arms and I walk into them. He drops a length of rope to the floor, tied in some intricate knot he'd been fiddling with to distract himself.

"Do you think Annie's alive?" he asks quietly, his voice breaking.

"Yeah, I do," I whisper. He just breathes. Finnick and I are like two half-people. We don't fit together, our other halves are somewhere else, but there's a beauty in our symmetry.

We spend the night walking around the hallways. We're told to go back to our rooms by a number of guards, and we agree to and then just turn down another hall. We wander until the district begins to wake. Cooks head to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. The third shift workers trudge to their compartments. Deliveries from Machinery to Agriculture and Infrastructure to Administration zip in and out of elevators with dollies of material.

It's like a hive, where everything is alive but us.

Inside, we're both dead.

 **A/N: The song Katniss sings is adapted from the poem Flanders Fields by John McCrae. All credit for those beautiful words are with him.**


	9. Chapter 9 - Alone

"We need a distraction," Coin announces, and the chatter at the Command table falls silent. "We need some kind of distraction to draw Snow's attention during the raid for the victors."

Discussion buzzes around the table, but I'm not sure what could possibly be enough to guarantee we garner his attention. Military attacks he will direct to the generals. Other distractions he will filter to various ministers in his cabinet. To get his attention it has to be personal.

"Has Beetee been able to break into the Capitol feed yet?" Finnick asks.

"For brief moments, yes," Beetee answers. "Two minutes, three at most before they reroute the signal and shut me out. I penetrate the firewall via a different route, they have to find me all over again. It's a game of cat and mouse."

"I may have a distraction," Finnick announces with some apprehension.

"You don't have to do this, boy," Haymitch says, but Finnick shakes his head.

"I will do whatever it takes to get Annie out. I don't care anymore," he answers firmly. We all listen in shock as Finnick previews his intel. His admission is horrifying to hear. He only gets a few minutes in before everyone in the room agrees to record a segment to air during the raid. I try to wipe the pity off my face. That's not what he needs. I glare across the table at Gale, who stares at his hands, his jaw locked. I'm sure the word _whore_ feels dirty in his mouth now.

Boggs stands at the board and diagrams out a series of events that will hopefully play to our advantage. Simultaneous to the move on the captured victors, rebels in District 5 will bomb a hydroelectric dam. This should interrupt the power grid temporarily while the rescue team descends into the Tribute Center. In District 6 they've coordinated a train derailment of Capitol supplies. He lays out other synchronized attacks in 3 and 11. I wonder how they are managing to pull this off. Just a couple weeks ago the rebels were losing strongholds in a half dozen districts and outright retreating in at least two. Now they've rallied, but what's changed? My eyes dart up and my propo is playing silently on one of the TV monitors.

Hope. They have hope. They actually believe we can win.

The room is dismissed, and Finnick follows Cressida out of the room, his head down.

"Do you want me to come with you?" I ask.

"No. I can do this," he says evenly.

"I know you can," I offer supportively, and he gives me a half smile before heading down toward the soundstage. I look at my arm. _Industrial Mechanics._ I head back to my compartment. The room is dark. My mother and sister are sleeping, Buttercup curled in the crook of Prim's legs. I lie in my cot and stare at them. I think about Finnick downstairs. What he's admitting to. Everything everyone thinks they know about Finnick is about to shatter. The shiny story, the front he put up – lover of Capitol jewels and affection – it's all a lie. Finnick was forced against his will. A child prostitute. Property of the Capitol.

Plutarch calls a few of us to the sound booth as he and Cressida cut the raw footage. It's appalling, but it's also fascinating. Between panting and heavy petting, wealthy Capitolites confessed their darkest secrets to Finnick. Money. Lust. Incest. Greed. Murder. When he sharpens his scope on Snow, I suspect all of Panem will be unable to look away. Finnick weaves a story of how Snow poisoned his enemies to stay in power. How his mouth is full bloody sores. How the antidotes don't always work, and his frame has been left enfeebled. How his hunger for power is insatiable, and even those he loves aren't safe. Finnick tells of murders that were made to look like accidents or suicides. He covers Snow's hands in blood.

When I meet Finnick in the cafeteria for lunch, he can't eat. He just stares at his food like it's made of stone. I feel guilty for seeing what I've seen, but soon it will be made available for public consumption. I catch Gale's eyes on us, but the jealousy has been replaced by something more palatable – empathy. I see him fidgeting, and I know he's debating coming over here. Instead, his communicuff goes off and he rises from his seat.

"Mommy's calling," I singsong under my breath to my potatoes.

"Don't be mean," Finnick chides, watching Gale leave the room. Eventually Finnick just drops his forehead to the table, and I run my hand over his back.

After a few minutes, Plutarch sends some soldiers down to the cafeteria to beckon us. We follow them back up to Command. At least it finally feels like we're doing something.

"Beetee's in!" Plutarch tells us as we enter the room. "He did it. He's in the Capitol feed." My eyes dart to the screen. It's footage from our trip to 12.

"Is this live?" I ask, and Fulvia nods her head fanatically.

"Yes, this is what the people in the Capitol are seeing right now," she says.

I step closer to the screen, my eyes narrowing as I study the imagery. Broken houses, broken people. It takes my breath away. Suddenly the screen flashes and Peeta is shoved into a seat. He's worse. He looks so much worse. They've made no attempt to cover up the actualities of his torment. This isn't meant to be propaganda. This isn't mean to make the rebels question the war. It's meant for me.

"They're going to execute him," the words come out of my mouth before my mind processes the thought.

"Get it back, Beetee! Get it back!" Plutarch barks.

"No!" I cry out, placing my hand on the screen. If they cut away I won't know if he's alive.

Peeta starts mumbling incoherently about a cease fire. About the extinction of humanity. About infernos and decimation. The sentences jumble together disjointedly. It's like he learned the lines but he doesn't know what they mean. He doesn't know they are coming out of his mouth. The screen flashes again and it's me, staring at a red flower. "And in the sky, the larks, still bravely singing, fly," my voice resonates in a soft, low tone. The screen flashes again, and Peeta looks confused.

"Katniss?" he asks, and his eyes dart from whatever monitor he's watching to the camera. It's like he's looking right at me. "Katniss, are you there?"

The screen cuts back to me. "Scarce heard amidst the guns below, scarce heard amidst the guns below."

Peeta's eyes flash. He can hear me. He can hear my voice. "Peeta," I whisper, touching the screen.

"Katniss," he says, and something comes over him. He slides back in the chair, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes. Like he can't find words. He shakes in his seat. "How do you think this will end?" He's back to rambling his rehearsed lines. "What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you, in Thirteen…" He stops, as if he's trying to force something out. He locks his eyes on the camera, as now it's not like he's speaking to me, it's like he's speaking to all of us. "Dead by morning."

Off camera, I can hear Snow order, "End it!"

End what? The feed? Peeta's life? Beetee adds to the chaos by flashing stills of me in three-second intervals over the live scene unfolding in the Capitol. Peeta is thrown from his chair and his face is slammed into the white tile, his nose erupting in blood. A picture of me kneeling in the rubble. The butt of a gun raised and smashed into Peeta's temple. His eyes roll. A picture of me in my kitchen. Peeta is gone, and all that's left is blood on white tile. The screen goes black.

"They took down the network," Beetee replies.

The scream begins in my lower back and stifles in my throat. I'm silent, choking on my grief. I can't breathe. I close my eyes and see blood and white and blood and white.

"What did he mean?" Coin asks me directly.

"What?" I ask, opening my eyes and staring at the black television.

"You in Thirteen, dead by morning. What does that mean?" she asks again.

"It means exactly what he said it means. He was warning us. Something is coming," I answer.

Everyone in the room begins talking over each other. They're each trying to decipher what Peeta meant. "Could he even have that kind of information?" one person asks.

"Shut up!" Haymitch shouts, and the din quiets. "It's not some big mystery. The boy is telling us we are about to be attacked."

"How do you know?" a solider asks.

Haymitch practically growls with frustration. "They are beating him bloody while we speak! What more do you need than that?" There are more protests. "You just don't want to believe it. We know him. Get your people ready."

My eyes dart to Coin. She's not looking at me. She's not looking at anyone. Her gaze is down as she thinks. She taps her fingers lightly on the table. When she lifts her head, her face is cool, her voice even. "Lock it down." The room springs immediately into action. Everyone from 13 has a purpose, and they buzz around us like hornets in a nest. Amid the organized chaos, Coin stands still.

"We need to go get him," I insist. "We need to go now, or we'll lose him."

"That is not the immediate priority," Coin snips, and for the first time some emotion has cracked through her normally unflappable exterior. "If he's right, everyone here's lives are in danger." She's barely finished speaking when a deafening alarm begins to sound overhead. The hallways line with angry red lights.

Everyone here. _Prim_.

I dart from Command and follow the mass of people down floor after floor until we reach a massive bunker. I push my way inside. It's organized by compartment number, and I scan the room until I find ours. My mother stands in the assigned quadrant, and I run over to her.

"Where's Prim?" I ask, my voice panicked. "Wasn't she at the hospital?"

"She was in class," my mother answers. My eyes scan the crowd. Her classmates are here. I turn back. "She's not here!" My mind frantically flips between scenarios until I lock onto one. "She went back for the cat," I mutter under my breath, and take off running. The entrance is overwhelmed with people making their way into the bunker, and I have to push and shove against the current to get out. The ramps are unusable. They are flooded with too many people to make any progress. One of the guards yells after me, but I look left and bolt up the utility stairs.

"Where are we going?" I hear a voice from behind me, and Finnick's feet pound on the steps.

"Prim," I gasp, and his face sets.

"Let's go," Finnick says seriously, his hands on my waist as he pushes me up. After flights and flights of stairs we are both huffing for air, and Finnick's hands on my back are the only way I'm making any forward progress at all.

A recorded voice comes over the intercom. "The security barracks will close in five minutes. Please proceed along your designated escape route."

"Let's move!" I order, regaining my stamina, and we push up. The upper floors are mostly abandoned, so we switch to the ramps and start running. As we turn a corner, I hear boots slamming into the ground as someone runs toward us. I look up and see Gale carrying Prim in his arms, his face red as he sprints down the ramp.

"Prim!" I scream, and take off toward her.

Without stopping, Gale bellows, "Run!" and Finnick and I turn immediately and race down toward the shelter.

"The security barracks will close in ninety seconds. Please ensure all persons are behind the red safety line when the doors close."

Three flights. Two flights. One flight. We fly around a corner and hear a thunderous thud as the large mechanical door releases and begins its descent.

"Get Prim! Get Prim!" I cry, and Finnick shoves Gale forward and the two slide under the door.

"Hold the door!" I hear Gale order the guards on the other side, but there is no override. Finnick rolls under the door and reaches back for me.

"Grab my hand, I'll pull you in!" he pleads, and our fingertips barely graze before the first bomb slams into 13. I'm thrown backward, and the door seals closed between us.

I'm alone.


	10. Chapter 10 - Change of Plans

I stare at the closed barrack doors. There's no way I'm getting inside. My mind races. I should go to Command. I'm sure the tactical room is reinforced. Another bomb fires into 13 and the earth shifts beneath me. I hear rock crack and dust falls from the ceiling. Command is at least ten stories higher, but the farther up I climb the more vulnerable I'll be to the aerial assault. I stare at the ramps. With the barrack doors closed, the alarm has silenced, but the hallways are still flashing with red emergency lights. Another bomb explodes and I am knocked to my knees. I might not make it to Command. I might not make it out of this hallway.

What is below me?

Nuclear Weaponry. I can put at least a dozen more floors between me and the bombs, and the rooms will be reinforced. This is a stupid decision, I know, but I push myself to my feet and run for it. _Run_ toward _the nuclear weapons, Katniss. Real bright._ A bomb hits, and the explosion throws me into the air. I crash into a wall and tumble forward. This was different than all the other detonations. The previous missiles were probably surface only, but that one penetrated the district defenses. I force myself back to my feet. I need to move, but my knee is throbbing. Another bomb strikes, and when I hit the wall my vision blurs. I'm going to die in this hallway.

"Katniss!" I hear a voice cry out, and I turn to see Boggs standing at the end of the hallway. "We saw you on the monitors." The ground shakes and he holds on to a wall. "Come on, Soldier, the Water Filtration Center is reinforced. It's only one level down from here. Can you walk?"

"When the floor stays still," I holler over the noise, and I run up to him. He throws an arm over my shoulder and we make our way down the hall together. Another missile hits, and we are flung off of our feet. Boggs covers my body with his as pieces of rock and grates tumble from the ceiling. "You've got to stop doing that," I yell.

"You making it out of here is a hell of a lot more important than me," he replies, and we start forward again. When we reach our destination, he hammers a code into the keypad and the door releases with a whir of air. The machinery is almost as loud as the aerial campaign, and we make our way over to a closet with a steel-enforced entrance. Boggs pulls open the door and pushes me inside. He follows me in and we sit on the floor. It's quieter in here. For a minute I forget the world is crumbling around us.

"I've secured the Mockingjay, we're holding position until the raid ends," Boggs speaks into his communicuff. A green light affirms his orders, and he finally leans back and rests his head against the wall.

"I'm not more important than you," I say, staring at him.

"You're more important to the cause," he replies, his face even. He's not seeking pity, he's just stating it as fact. I hear Peeta in my head. _Nobody needs me, Katniss._ "I saw you fall. Let me see your knee," he orders. I slide closer to him on the floor and he gingerly rolls my pant leg up. My knee is already turning dark, but there's no swelling. His fingers ghost over my wound gently. "Not sprained or broken, just got a nasty bruise," he says. "You'll live," he throws in with a half-grin. Boggs rolls the pant leg back down.

"Do you have a daughter?" I ask.

He smirks. "I do. How'd you know that?"

"The way you talked about Rue. I could tell you loved someone like I loved her. Like I love Prim," I answer quietly.

"Maya. She's seven. She's a real spitfire, too. Thinks you walk on water," Boggs replies.

"If we get out of here, I'd love to meet her," I say, flinching as another bomb shakes the closet.

"She's funny and artistic, like her mom. But sometimes when I see her mind moving, calculating… Every once in a while I see a little of me in there," Boggs says. He turns his face away from me. "We almost lost her. In the plague," he tells the wall. We don't talk for a while.

"Boggs," I ask, breaking the silence that exists between us, while outside the doors the floors burn and crumble.

"Yeah?" he asks in his solid baritone.

"I didn't see Haymitch," I whisper quietly. "In the bunker."

"He's up in Command," Boggs replies, and I breathe a little. The night bears on and we wait until the explosions finally begin to ebb. Neither of us sleeps and hours pass. Boggs tells me about when Maya was little. How she was a picky eater, how she learned to tie her shoes earlier than all the other kids. How she writes fantastical stories and hides the paper under her bed so she's not reprimanded for wasting resources. Boggs pretends not to know, but at night he sits up and reads her tales of mystical creatures and the feel of sun on your skin. To her, the sun is as much of a fantasy as a dragon. "Maybe after all this is over, maybe we can move to the sea. She's always wanted to learn how to swim." His communicuff flashes.

"We're clear. They're opening the bunker. Let's go," he orders, and we get up. I stretch my stiff muscles. I need to go see Prim, and then I'm headed to Command. The rescue needs to happen today. We can't afford to wait anymore. Peeta can't wait. If he's still alive. I swallow hard.

Boggs and I walk up to the residential bunker, and when the doors open people file out in an orderly fashion. I see a girl with warm skin and curly hair tied into a braid just like mine. Her face lights when she sees Boggs. "Daddy!" she cries out and leaps into his arms. I remember being a little girl, throwing myself recklessly at my father, not questioning whether or not he'd catch me.

"Hey there, pumpkin! Did you get any sleep?" he asks.

"Katniss! Katniss!" I hear Prim call out and she pushes through the crowd. I see her blonde head bobbing and shout back to her. When she finally reaches me she throws her arms around my neck. "I thought you were dead! I thought for sure you were dead!"

"Shhh, little duck. I'm okay," I whisper, stroking her hair. Boggs and I share a moment, his little girl wrapped in his arms, my sister wrapped in mine. My mother finally reaches us, and I look up to find Finnick. Prim tells me he spent most of the night up with them, seeing as his designated bunker is right next to ours.

"I told her you were too stubborn to die," he says, teasing. He tickles Prim's cheek with the end of her braid. "And who was right?"

Prim sticks her tongue out at Finnick. I put my arm around Prim's shoulders and begin to walk her back to our compartment when we are detoured down an unfamiliar route of corridors.

"The top levels are not yet habitable," one soldier says. "Everyone on the top five floors will need to be relocated."

"But what about Buttercup?" Prim exclaims, clasping the cat to her chest. Part of the deal was Buttercup had access to the outside and fed himself.

"They'll have to make an exception. It's not Buttercup's fault we were bombed," I answer. It seems to pacify her a little, and she strokes the wretched beast and whispers sweet nothings to him.

"Soldier Everdeen, Soldier Odair, you're needed in Command," another man orders. I look down at Prim.

"It's alright, I can take Prim," my mother says.

"Thanks," I say, and hug my mom. We haven't shared much affection since arriving in 13. I've barely seen her at all. But if I get my way in Command, we might head straight to the Capitol, and it's unlikely I'm coming back from that, even if all goes according to plan. "I love you, Mom," I whisper into her hair, and she gives me a knowing look. She squeezes me tight.

"Go get our boy," she whispers back.

I tousle Prim's hair a little before I follow the soldiers down the hall. Three others join us. It must be all hands on deck.

"Isn't Command back that way?" I ask, and when I turn to point down the hall one of the soldiers throws his arms around my waist and slams me into the wall. I hear a loud crash and look over to see Finnick unconscious on the floor. I smash my heel hard into my assailant's foot and throw my elbow into his throat. He drops to his knees and I spin around and kick him in the chest. I hear the air wheeze out from his lungs when I'm suddenly plummeted into darkness. Strong hands grab my shoulder and I'm forced to my knees, a hood veiled over my head.

"Stay down, Mockingjay!" One of them barks. They hitch my arms behind my back and I thrash wildly. What is happening? Snow must have spies. Or are they a gift from Coin? I don't know who the enemy is anymore.

I feel a sharp sting on my neck as a needle pierces my skin and everything becomes very quiet.

When I come to, my face is pressed against a tile floor. A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling by a cord, casting a spotlight in the middle of the small space, but leaving the walls obscured in darkness. The ground is freezing and has sucked all the warmth out of my skin. I press my hands to the ground and push myself up. My body is sore and protests. I grunt as I sit back on my feet, my knee pleads for me to stop. As my eyes begin to focus, I see Finnick lying on the floor a few feet over and panic sets in.

"Finnick! Finnick!" I shake him hard, and he moans faintly. He's alive. It takes a few minutes for him to finally come to, and he sits up and takes in our surroundings - what little of them there are. There is a steel door with bolted shut from the outside. On the floor is a small grate, no bigger than a piece of sandwich bread. There are no windows. My mind is still blurry from whatever they knocked us out with, and I try to concentrate.

"They're going to rescue them," I realize.

"What?" Finnick asks. His eyes aren't focusing on me. He's still out of it.

"They're rescuing Annie," I say, and at her name he looks straight at me. He shoots to his feet.

"HEY!" he screams, slamming his hands on the door. "LET US OUT OF HERE!"

My mind is disjointed. I cannot focus, I cannot reconcile between the ecstasy and fury that are competing inside me. Finnick's chest is heaving.

"We need to go, Katniss. Annie doesn't know any of these people from 13. She barely knew about the rebellion. She's going to panic. She won't go with them," Finnick rambles. He's right. We need to send familiar faces or the victors will fight back. I look around the room for a weapon or anything to try to pry the door open. It's entirely empty. The fury is winning. I join Finnick in slamming my hands against the door.

I remember Finnick crashing into the invisible wall in the Arena, jabberjays screaming horrors as he tried to beat his way out. I remember Peeta next to him, pressing his head into his hands and trying to block out the sound. I imagine some parallel world where, instead of Peeta on the other side of the wall, it was me. That somehow we are reliving that moment now, Finnick and I. We both hammer at the door, desperate to escape and unable to move.

When the door gives, I think I'm imagining it, until I see Gale standing on the other side. He throws a couple of black uniforms with bulletproof vests at us. He's already dressed in the same.

"Hurry up, change," he says in a hastened whisper before turning his back to us to stand guard. Finnick and I move without question. We rip our gray clothes off and jump into the stealth uniforms. I look over at Gale.

"What are you doing here?" I ask as I lace up the leather boots. I spy the hallway and realize the door is red. We're in the prison ward, where my prep team was held. A couple of guards lie unconscious on the floor a few yards away.

"Getting you," he says. We exit the cell and Gale hands us a couple helmets.

"Why? Clearly Coin wants me in here. Aren't you breaking orders?" I ask, our gray eyes meeting.

"Because, Katniss, it's what friends do," he replies. I wrap my arms around his neck.

"Thank you," I whisper in his ear. He pulls his arms around my waist and holds me for a minute.

"Are we okay now?" he whispers. "I need my best friend back." I nod and he squeezes me hard before he lets me go. My feet meet the floor again.

"Let's move," he says, and we follow him down the hall. He explains on the way that Coin advised Command we'd be detained for the mission "for our own safety." Beetee is hacking the coms to override her command in the systems and revert back to the original squadron. Haymitch has her distracted with some invented story about crop contamination from the bombing. By the time we reach the Hangar I'm fuming, but I need to bury it. If Gale is going to convince the team we're supposed to be here, I can't be emotional. I can do stoic. It's second nature to me.

The three of us enter the hovercraft and find a crew of four people. They are each dressed in matching tactical uniforms, nearly indistinguishable from one another save for their faces. Two of the operatives are immediately on their feet.

"Everdeen and Odair aren't approved for this mission," one states factually.

"New orders from Coin," Gale replies. "She's decided the value of a successful propo outweighs the potential risk to their lives. Here, everyone take these." Gale reaches into a small bag and hands out small cameras that mount the military-grade helmets. "Coin wants visuals from every perspective. We leave this mission with a hero or a martyr, but either way we get it on tape." Clearly Cressida is in on this plot, too.

I sit next to a stern-looking woman and a man of no more than twenty. These people all might die rescuing Peeta. The man keeps staring, and my palms start to sweat. He knows we're lying. When I look up at him, though, his serious face breaks into a giant smile. "I'm sorry, I've just never actually been in the same room as you before. It's a real honor."

"Me too," I say.

Boggs enters the ship, gives Finnick and me a double-take, and sits down. "I just came from Command. We're cleared for take-off." I almost think I see him crack a smile, but I must be imagining it.

As the hovercraft finally lifts into the air and exits 13's airspace, I'm reminded of being escorted to the Arena. "Thank you all, for doing this. For risking your lives," I say awkwardly.

"We don't leave a man behind," another militiaman replies.

The rest of the ride is in silence. I repeat the mission objectives silently in my head. I run over mental images of the building maps. I check my weapon. I review tactics in my mind. It takes hours, but when we enter Capitol airspace the city is black. Command confirms in our earpieces that the hydrodam has been bombed. The hovercraft hangs in place forty feet over the roof of the Tribute Center.

"You ready for this?" Gale asks, and I nod. He clips a carabiner to my harness and I leap backwards out of the hovercraft, tethered by a rope. We all lower slowly to the roof, almost in perfect synchronization. My feet hit the ground, and I am flooded with memories of Peeta up here.

 _I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, and live in it forever._

I close my eyes. I'm coming for you.


	11. Chapter 11 - The Raid

I roll the pearl in my pocket and glance toward the stairwell door that leads from the roof to our old quarters. The initial plan had been to rappel down the outside walls of the Tribute Center, but I immediately shot that down.

 _"There's a forcefield. Even if it's down when we start, the power could come on at any minute and we'd all be dead," I state. I can feel Coin adjust her weight in her seat. She hates when I said anything of value._

"Let's head in. Katniss?" Boggs orders, and I take the lead. I am point on this leg of the mission. We'll be sneaking from the roof, in through the District 12 quarters, down the hall, and to the utility stairwell. We're not sure if the cameras there have been repaired or not, but hopefully the power stays out. I open the door and signal for the troops to follow me down the stairs. Their footfalls are silent. We land in the hallway outside the tribute rooms. I look at my door, what _was_ my door. I remember lingering there with Peeta, after our picnic on the roof. Feeling his eyes trace my neck. Waiting and waiting until we crashed together and slammed back into my door. Unlike 13, his presence is profoundly real here.

"This way," I order, and we head down to the dining area and out the door. We exit into the corridor and walk slowly to the utility stairwell at the north end of the hall. I close my eyes and see Haymitch and I huddled in the stairs. I remember the horrifying realization.

 _"Snow killed my dad," I whisper._

 _"I know, sweetheart."_

I push it aside. The stairs run along the wall, leaving a gaping open space in the middle of the well that goes all the way to the bottom floor. We each secure our grappling gear to the railing and leap over the side. We drop in a controlled descent, until our feet hit the floor.

"This is the training area," Finnick states. "We're looking for the door on the southeast side of the building." He takes the lead. "Let's go."

We move quickly behind Finnick, and sure enough, there is a door exactly where he remembered it. He twists the knob and it's locked.

"Masks on," Boggs says, and we each drop our gasmasks to our faces. Boggs attaches a device to the door, and it melts the metal lock away in a puff of pink smoke. When we executed this part of the plan in our dry run in 13, the smoke made us all choke. Boggs pushes the door open and exposes a long hallway. We shove the masks back up and stare down the stretch of empty space.

Everything from here on out is unknown.

"Weapons up," Boggs orders, his voice hushed. I mount my gun. The corridor is narrow, dark, and silent. We walk a hundred steps or so before it opens into a larger area. The walls are lined with shiny, metal cages, but they are all empty, doors ajar. My heart leaps to my throat. Snow's moved them. They're not here anymore. My eyes scan the room, my headlamp illuminating the cages, the walls. Nothing. Nothing. Wait…

"There!" I call out, and point to a large door on the back wall. It's not like the others. The door is massive, easily 8 or 9 feet tall. At the center is a giant wheel handle. It almost reminds me of the door to a vault. The others gather around. Gale eyes it warily, his trapper's mind at work. Finnick tries to turn the wheel but it is bolted shut.

"Hold on," Boggs says, and swings his bag around to his front. The others cover him as he opens the satchel and starts to dig through the supplies Beetee packed. The mastermind assumed at some point we'd reach an entrance we'd need to breach. We assess the contents.

A single-use blow torch.

"That's no good, we can't see the bolt," I say.

Pliers.

A lock-picking kit Gale has mastered in training.

Explosives. A last resort.

Boggs pulls out a small black box. "What's this?" he asks, holding it up. He opens the box and it holds a heavy, dull metal puck.

"Give me that," Gale says, and Boggs places it in his hands. Gale gently pulls it from box. He runs his fingers along the seam of the door, assessing where the bolt is. He flips the metal disc over and it slams into the door.

"It's a magnet," I utter, and Gale nods. He pulls forcefully toward the center of the door, and we hear metal screech. He's manually opening the bolt through the door. He groans in the effort, and Finnick jumps in beside him, putting his hands on top of Gale's.

"Pull!" he grits through his teeth.

Boggs and the young kid grab hold of the wheel handle and begin to wrench it to the left. It stays firmly in place, until suddenly Gale and Finnick give a large heave and the magnet slides nearly a foot. The wheel begins to spin, and the door opens.

While everywhere else in the Tribute Center has been drenched in darkness, the room behind the door is a blinding white. It's disorienting, and my eyes are full of water when a half dozen Peacekeepers charge through and jump our squad. I slam the butt of my gun into one man's larynx, and he collapses at my feet. I turn in time to see a Peacekeeper charge Boggs from behind, and I slam my boot into the back of his knee. I hear it crack and the Peacekeeper screams and falls to the floor.

"Disarm or kill them and move on!" Boggs yells out, and I take the weapons from the men at my feet.

"Stay down," I order, and they crawl away from me. I hear the pop of a silencer and look over to find a Peacekeeper dead at Gale's feet. He drags the body into the doorframe. A human doorstop. I swallow a mouthful of bile.

"Let's move," he says, and we follow Boggs into the white room, save the stoic-looking woman who guards the Peacekeepers. Having been submerged in dark for so long, it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the glaring light. This section is clearly run by a generator as the rest of the building is still without power. The white room is some kind of monitoring station. There are screens with cameras trained on individual cells. Only four are active. Four screens, four victors. My heart pounds in my chest. There's a door on the back wall, but it's locked. I spot a key card reader. I turn around and sprint out to the Peacekeepers.

"Who has access to the cells?" I bark to the wounded. I scan the men and try to assess if one has any kind of leadership insignia, but they all look the same to me. I raise my gun and point it at one of the soldiers. "You better start talking," I threaten as I loom over him. Even though I've gone through firearm training, the gun still feels foreign in my hand, but a bow would be impractical down here. The man takes off his helmet and a tuft of brown hair falls around his eyes. I swallow hard but don't blink. It's easier to forget they're human.

"Any of our cards work. We all have access," he submits, reaching to his side. He rips his card from his waist and offers it to me, hand trembling.

"Thanks," I say. Thanks?

I turn back to the room and swipe the key card over the reader. The light turns green and the door opens. We are immediately met with a putrid odor and we all cough and cover our faces. The smell of vomit and decay is pungent. The coppery scent of blood hangs heavy in the air. A few soldiers drop their masks again, but Finnick and I look at each other. They need to see our faces.

The room is circular, with cells lining the entire perimeter. Unlike the sterile metal cages we saw earlier, this place is damp and made of stone. A word forms in my head. _Dungeon_. In the center of the room is a sort of gallery-like area, with a metal table covered with instruments of torment. I immediately pull my eyes away. I cannot look there, or I'll lose it. My eyes scan the cells. Empty, empty, empty, until I find one occupied with an unrecognizable corpse, swollen with bloat and missing different body parts. I move on. Empty. Empty.

Pressing herself in the corner of the next cell is a red-headed woman. It's as if she's trying to disappear into the wall. "Annie," Finnick breathes, and she turns to us with eyes the color of the sea. "Annie!"

"Finnick?" she asks, her bottom lip trembling.

Finnick pulls at the cell bars, but they are locked. Boggs hands him a crowbar from the gallery, and Finnick begins wailing on the lock until it falls with a clunk to the floor. He throws the crowbar at his feet and rips the door open. He immediately scoops the frail girl into his arms, kicks the cell closed, and carries her out of the hellhole.

"Peeta!" I call out, but he doesn't reply.

"Katniss?" I hear from a cell across the room, and I dart over. I wrap my hands around the bars.

"Oh god, Johanna," I barely breathe. She's practically naked, save for a thin tank top and a soiled pair of panties. Her hair has been shorn from her head. She's skeletal, and the bottom of her cell is filled with a half a foot of water. Her skin is sagging. "Get her out of here!" I scream, and two of the soldiers come running. They break her cell open. Johanna tries to stand on her own but collapses into the water. They step inside and she screams and throws herself against the back wall. They immediately put their hands in the air and step out of the cell.

"Let's tranq her," one says.

"Wait!" I order, then turn to Johanna. "It's okay, it's okay," I repeat, and jump into the cell. I feel the water invade my shoes. "It's okay." Gale peers in the cell.

"You alright, Katniss?" he asks. I see Johanna's eyes spark in recognition. She's seen Gale on television. She knows he's my cousin.

"Help me with her," I plead, and he steps inside the cell.

"I got you," Gale says to Johanna, sliding his arm around her waist. "Just lean on me. I got you."

"Where's Peeta?" I ask, and Johanna's eyes look one cell over from hers.

"He hasn't woken up since they brought him back last night," she says. "He stopped moaning a few hours ago. I don't know what that means." I feel the horror creep up my skin and crawl all over my body. "Katniss… be careful." Her legs are too weak to step over the threshold of the cell, and Gale lifts her effortlessly into the air. She's like a ragdoll.

I walk toward the cell next to Johanna's. "Peeta?" I ask, my voice soft. My eyes come to focus on a dark figure. My heart physically aches when I recognize him. He lies crumpled in a pile on the floor. Boggs is immediately at my side. He slams into the lock with the crowbar, and the door groans as it gives in. I pull it open slowly and step inside. "Peeta," I breathe. Blood has pooled around his head on the floor, but it's sticky and cold. The wounds on his face have congealed somewhat. He's thin, he's desperately thin. His leg is missing, and it makes him look even more diminished. I take the smallest steps, like I'm approaching a wounded animal. Like I might somehow hurt him. "Peeta?" I ask again, but he doesn't move.

My feet stop. I feel Boggs behind me.

"Did I lose him?" I ask, my voice breaking. I don't dare touch him. I don't dare confirm the fear spreading cold to my limbs like ice in my veins.

"I don't know," he replies.

I drop to my knees and roll Peeta onto his back. I press my head to his chest. _This is how we sleep_ , I think aimlessly. My mind is a confused mess of incoherent thoughts, but I hear his heart. I fall back on my feet and clasp my hand to my mouth. "He's alive. He's alive. He's alive," I mutter over and over again. "Help me! Help me carry him!"

Boggs orders another soldier into the cell, and the young kid drops to his knees and takes Peeta's arms while I grab his legs. He weighs nothing. He weighs nothing at all. My heart sinks. Boggs does a sweep to confirm the remaining cells are empty. We carry Peeta toward the door when he bellows out, "WAIT! I've got another one." It must be Enobaria. The footage shows her getting out alive. "Katniss, I need you!" Boggs hollers. I look at Peeta and up at the kid.

"Go, I got him," he says.

This feels wrong. Every step I take away from Peeta I hate myself, even though it's only a few feet we are parted at most. My eyes peer into the cell and I know why Boggs called me over. I see the tiny woman covering her face with her hands. It's not Enobaria.

"Effie," I utter.

"Are you sure?" Boggs asks. He's only seen her done up, face white, wig perched high on her head.

"Effie," I state clearer, and she lifts her eyes at me through her auburn hair.

"Open the door!" I order, and Boggs breaks it free. I rush into the cell and pull her from the floor. "Effie!" I cry out and feel the tears rolling down my cheeks. She stiffens in my arms. "Can you walk?" I ask, and she nods slowly. Boggs offers her a hand, and she smiles demurely.

"Finally, someone with manners," she says in a weak but clipped tone, and I smile.

I rush back to Peeta and we make our way out the way we came. Effie averts her eyes as we pass the wounded and dead Peacekeepers. Johanna spits on them. We attach our grappling gear and begin the ascent. We cut through corridors and climb until we've hit the roof. The hovercraft drops a rescue net, and we pile the survivors in first. Annie refuses to leave Finnick, and he cups her face.

"Trust me," he whispers, and she nods before sitting back into the net. I picture him as her mentor, in a district suite identical to ours. I picture them on the train together, their lives helplessly interwoven. "Trust me."

When the last of us enters the warbird, it takes off immediately.

"There's no one following us," Gale mutters, looking out at the sky.

"That's good, right?" I ask.

"That was too easy," Gale says to Boggs, who nods his head silently in agreement.

"There were guards," I argue.

"Six Peacekeepers? That's all Snow sent to defend the cells? Six Peacekeepers?" Gale says.

"Maybe they didn't know we were here. Between the power outage and the train derailment and Finnick's propo," I justify, but I know they are right. They keep discussing it, but as soon as we are out of Capitol airspace I tune them out. Annie buries her face in Finnick's neck, trying to shut out everything but him. Johanna has been wrapped in a blanket and sits silently on the bench with a blank stare on her face. Gale has him arm protectively wrapped around her. Effie rocks ever so slightly.

Peeta is lying on the floor of the hovercraft. I lift his head and slide a rolled up towel underneath it. His breaths are shallow, but present. Even. I push some of the hair out of his face.

"You're not going to die. I forbid it. Alright?" I whisper.

"They'll have a full medical crew in place when we land," Boggs tells me. I know this. It was part of the original plan.

I nod, but my eyes never leave Peeta's face. His cheeks are bony. Even after our Games, he's never been this thin. His hair is caked with dry blood. There isn't a part of him that isn't bruised or dirty. I lace my fingers with his. He's unconscious, and his hand lays lifelessly in mine. The part that haunts me the most is how cold he is. Peeta has always been fiery hot, but his skin feels like ice. I rub his fingers between mine.

"Stay with me," I whisper, but the air around me is cold and answerless.


	12. Chapter 12 - Mockingjay

When we arrive in 13, the hovercraft doors open and the medical crew rushes on board. I'm too protective over Peeta – getting in the way, flinching over every needle prick and hand on his body. I'm reminded of those desperate families standing around my mom's kitchen table as she worked on the ill, the injured, the dying. I take a breath and step back. He's transferred to a stretcher and the staff begins to wheel him away. I immediately follow, when arm is raised in front of my chest.

"All operatives are to report to Command for debriefing," the voice commands. Another nameless, faceless soldier. I stare as Peeta is taken away from me.

My mother steps forward. "I got him. You go, I got him." I nod wordlessly and turn to follow the rest of my crew to Command. I stare back over my shoulder at Peeta until the elevator doors close. I wonder what my punishment will be. If I'm going back in a cell. If I'll ever see Peeta again.

When we enter Command, the entire room rises in a standing ovation. I see Coin staring at me with calculating eyes, on her feet but her hands still at her sides. With the applause lulls, Coin steps forward.

"Congratulations to you all on a successful recovery mission. Please turn your headcams over to Plutarch for processing. We will take your individual statements by the conclusion of the day. On the table are scripted responses for any questions you may receive. Do not deviate from the script, and do not answer anything that is not outlined already," Coin states.

My eyes graze over the text. We are allowed to say we rescued Peeta, Johanna, and Annie. Anything regarding Effie is classified. Anything regarding where they were held is classified. Anything regarding tactics or equipment used is classified. Anything regarding who specifically participated on the mission is classified.

"Obviously, some of these details will come to light when Cressida finishes the rescue propo, but that has to be carefully vetted through leadership first," Plutarch says. I almost sense Coin cringe internally at Cressida's name, though her face remains flat. Beneath her cool exterior, she's angry.

The squad each collects their scripts and hands in their headcams. We all turn to leave when Coin stops me. "Solider Everdeen, Soldier Odair, a word." We pause at the door, and Gale walks back in with us. "Soldier Hawthorne this does not concern you," she says, dismissing him. Gale is no longer in her inner circle.

"He stays," I answer firmly. "It's part of the Mockingjay deal, remember?" Gale plants himself at my side.

"Fine," Coin says. "I just wanted to let you know that, seeing as you two are clearly so eager to get in the field, I've arranged for your deployment to District Two. You'll be leaving at the end of the week." Finnick and I immediately start to protest, and she adds, "Unless you are seeking penalty for the direct orders you've already disobeyed in regards to the last mission?"

"I didn't hear a direct order. Did you hear a direct order?" I ask Finnick.

"No," he says coldly. "I didn't hear a direct order."

"All I heard was a bag over my head and a needle in my neck," I seethe.

"Your group hacked the communication center, stole equipment, misled Command, assaulted two guards, and jeopardized the lives of everyone involved in that mission," she says with a measured voice. We stare at her. "The repercussions for those actions are serious." I can only imagine, seeing as stealing a piece of bread left my prep team debased. "You leave for Two Friday night. You're dismissed."

We file into the hallway. None of us quite know how to process what just happened.

"Let's just go to the Hospital. We'll figure that out later," I state, and we make our way to the ward. The captured victors are all being kept in adjoining rooms. Annie is sleeping.

"We had to put her out, she was hysterical," a nurse tells Finnick, who just sits at Annie's bedside and wraps her fingers in his own. He drops his head to her side. A look washes over his face that I haven't seen in him before. Peace. He smiles at me softly.

Johanna sits propped up in bed. Compared to the stark white of the hospital sheets, she almost looks worse than she did in her cell. It makes every bruise, every wound stand out. "Hey," I whisper, sitting next to her. Johanna and I were never close, but I feel drawn to her. Shared experiences do that. "How you feeling?" I ask.

"Warm," she says, letting her eyes fall closed. She's clearly doped up from the morphling dripping into her arm. I look up and see Gale hovering at the end of her bed.

"I just… I carried her out of there. I feel like I have to see it through," he murmurs.

"You saved her. You saw it through," I answer reassuringly, squeezing his hand.

"I know, but… she's all alone here," he replies.

"She's all alone everywhere," I say softly. "Snow killed her whole family." I look back at Johanna, who has drifted off. Gale sits on the end of her bed and I run my hand over his shoulder. "Thank you," I mouth, and he nods.

I look around but I don't see Effie. I assume her room is in a different part of the hospital. Aside from being unrecognizably thin, I didn't see many physical wounds. She may not require intensive care. I look to Peeta's door. Haymitch steps out.

"He's coming to, you should go inside," he says.

"Is he…?" I try to choke out a question but my voice catches in my throat.

"He'll be okay, sweetheart. You want me to come with you?" Haymitch asks. I nod unreservedly.

I stand from the chair next to Johanna's bed and walk over to Peeta's room. I stare at the door. My heart slams into my chest, like a miner striking coal with a sledgehammer. It almost hurts. Haymitch turns the door knob and I walk inside.

Peeta is sitting on the hospital bed, his back to the door. He's hunched over as a doctor adjusts the IVs in his arm. He looks tiny. Like a little boy. Like a broken doll.

"Peeta?" The word slips through my lips. I haven't said his name much since he left. The omnipresent _he_ or _him_ in my conversation is always Peeta. I don't need to clarify. It feels foreign and familiar all at the same time.

At my voice his body reacts. I can see him as he lets out a shaky breath. "Katniss?" he asks, his voice breaking. I walk slowly around the table, like I might break him completely if I move too fast, step too close. When I see his face, his eyes fill with tears. I rush forward, but I'm terrified to touch him, terrified to hurt him. My fingers ghost over his face, and he drops his forehead onto my shoulder. "Oh my god, it's really you," he whispers, and he slides his hands up my cheeks and into my hair.

We're both crying and the medical staff slowly steps out of the room. My hands drift to his jaw, and I lift his face to mine. I press my lips to his slowly, and it's like we both let go of a breath we've been holding for months. I cry into his mouth. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I beg, but he just buries the words with his lips. His kiss is soft, slow. Like a morning glory opening itself to the sun. We kiss until our lungs scream for air. We kiss like it's a gift.

"Are you okay?" he asks, pulling back and looking at me. It's so Peeta, on the brink of breaking and worried if I'm okay. I nod my head.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay," I answer, with a mix of a sob and a laugh, and his lips are back on mine. His mouth still has remnants of blood and bile, and yet it's the sweetest thing I've ever tasted. He tugs my hair lightly before dropping his head back to my shoulder. He's too weak to keep his head up, too exhausted to keep his hands in my hair. They fall to my neck, and he presses his mouth softly to my throat.

"I missed you," he whispers.

"I missed you, too," I weep, and I feel his muscles tremble as he tries to stay upright.

"You want to lie down?" I whisper.

"I don't want to be any farther from you than I have to be," he says, his voice hushed.

"Alright, Mockingjay, I think we need to let the kid rest," Haymitch says from the corner.

At Haymitch's words, something shifts. I feel every muscle in Peeta's body go taut. He pulls back from me and his eyes roll into his head.

"Peeta? Peeta!" I cry out. He looks like he's having a seizure. His hands tighten around my neck as though he's trying to anchor himself here. "Peeta!" I cry out. "Help! We need some help!"

Suddenly Peeta's eyes snap open, and he glares at me. The blue of his irises is completely consumed by his pupils. They retract to nothing and blow out again. He bites his tongue until he draws blood. He looks inhuman. His fingers tighten around my neck, and I immediately know he is not okay.

"Peeta, no," I barely get out, but his hands clamp around my throat and he hurls his body forward, throwing me into a cabinet. Glass shatters around us as we both crash to the floor, his hands never leaving my neck. Hands that know me. Hands that have wiped away tears. Hands that have soothed away pain. Hands that have explored and lingered and clinged to me. Hands that now threaten to crush my throat.

Adrenaline kicks in and I begin clawing and kicking, but it's as if he feels no pain. Glass grinds into my body as he presses me into the floor and I feel blood, hot and pooling under my skin. Panic surges through me as I realize I'm not going to be able to get him off. I try to choke out his name, but I have no air. I scratch his arms until my muscles begin to give out and my hands fall feebly at my side. Things begin to get blurry and distant.

I hear a crash and Peeta's body collapses on top of me. What felt heavy just moments ago now feels weightless, like a bird with hollow bones. I choke and wheeze as Haymitch pulls Peeta's body off of me and drops a metal tray to the ground. It clangs and echoes throughout the room, and it's the last thing I remember before I pass out.

The collar is cold and chafing my neck. It's the first thing I think when I wake up. It's makes not shivering impossible, and I feel my body wracked with tiny quakes. I can hear voices murmuring quietly in my room. I manage to open my eyes partway, and Finnick comes to my side.

"Hey there. You gave us a scare," he whispers.

I try to form Peeta's name, but nothing in my throat is cooperating.

"Shh, shh. Don't try to talk. Everything's really swollen right now," he says. He turns away from me to one of the nurses. "Someone get Prim. She's awake."

Others gather in my room. My mom. Prim. Gale. Haymitch. My family. Finnick doesn't leave my side, and I know it's killing him not to be with Annie. He can read it on my face.

"She's sleeping, it's okay," he says in a hushed voice. Everyone is talking in murmurs and whispers, as if in the nursery of an infant. As though I can't speak, so they shouldn't either. There's a quick rap at the door, and Plutarch wheels Beetee into the room. Everyone looks to them expectantly for answers. Plutarch scans the room and plants himself in an empty chair.

"It's called a hijacking," Plutarch begins. Already the word feels vile in my mind. "It's very new. We are unaware of anyone to have undergone the process and survived."

"It's a type of fear conditioning using tracker jacker venom," Beetee explains. I remember the venom. It distorted reality. It made things that were already horrific pervert into the inventions of nightmares. "They use the tracker jacker venom to bring him to a dissociative state. Then they, um," Beetee stumbles on his words. "They use negative stimuli to elicit adverse reactions."

"They torture him," Gale says, not mincing words. I flinch. Gale looks at me with question in his eyes, but I meet his. I appreciate the candor. We shouldn't sterilize what happened to Peeta. We should call it by its name.

"Precisely. And once he's in this dissociative fear state, they start to layer in memories of whatever it is they are trying to manipulate. People. Places. Things," Beetee explains.

"So they could change Peeta's memories of Katniss?" Prim asks, her voice small.

"They turned him into a weapon," Haymitch replies. "It's why you got out of the Capitol so easy. Snow wanted you to have Peeta. He wanted Peeta inside Thirteen. He wanted Peeta to kill you." But he was normal. He was fine. I felt his mouth. I felt his hands in my hair. That was him. Haymitch can read me. "Plutarch thinks they conditioned him to respond to triggers. They didn't want it apparent right away Peeta was a threat. They wanted him to get close to you, get you in a vulnerable situation. So they conditioned him to respond the certain words. The running theory is he was set off when I said Mockingjay."

"Is he like this forever? Will he come down?" Finnick asks.

"We still don't know. They didn't really have a reason to program an off switch," Haymitch replies.

"And who knows what other triggers there are," Beetee adds. "We may be able to decondition him to Mockingjay, but what happens when we find another trigger? Is he completely reset? We have no idea."

"It's experimental," Plutarch says, trying to smooth the look of distress that has overtaken my face. "But we're working on it." Plutarch doesn't care if I feel better or not. He just wants his Mockingjay to sing.

"How is he now?" Finnick asks.

"He's…" Haymitch starts, but he loses the words in his throat. He drops his eyes to his shoes.

"He's living in a different reality. His speech is disjointed. He thinks Katniss is a Mutt, created by the Capitol to destroy Panem. As far as we can tell, we've been unable to recover a single genuine memory of Katniss. Every video or photo we show him is only distressing. At this point, he believes Katniss to be an imminent threat to his own personal safety. He thinks she needs to be eradicated," Beetee states. My appreciation for honesty is beginning to wane.

"So what? You try to isolate him? How do we keep him from hearing the word Mockingjay? It's all over 13. It's all over Panem," Gale argues.

"Our number one priority is decoding Peeta," Plutarch assures him.

"Your number one priority should be keeping Katniss safe!" Gale blurts out. "She is irreplaceable to the rebellion. She's irreplaceable to–" He cuts himself short. I'm irreplaceable to him. I know what he was going to say. Gale takes a deep breath and pulls it back in.

"We're working on it, I can assure you," Plutarch insists. "For now, Katniss is to have no interaction with the detainee." The detainee? He doesn't even have a name now? "He'll be kept in a reinforced wing of the hospital under armed guard."

I struggle in my bed, trying to form words and instead a hissing rasp comes out of my mouth.

"Katniss, Katniss, try not to talk," Prim says, squeezing my hand. Instead, I claw at the collar. I know in my head, I _know_ , the collar is not causing my problems, but it's something physical I can fight against and my mind is not entirely lucid. I pull at it. My nose fills with snot as a sob manifests in my body and gets choked in my swollen throat. I feel like I can't breathe.

"I'm putting her under," my mother says, and I find Finnick with my eyes before the drugs pull me back.

 **A/N: I know. I know. I know I know I know I know, I know you guys didn't want him hijacked. Please please please stick with me. I promise there's some beautiful Everlark stuff on its way…**


	13. Chapter 13 - Will You Anyway?

I'm in the hospital for a couple days. I walk the ward. People look at me with pity and I resent them for it. I'm mostly silent. Eventually they remove the collar. I wear regular gray clothes and eat in the dining hall. I still can't speak more than a few words at a time. I've spied on Peeta from outside his room while he sleeps a few times. He looks like him. He looks like a broken version of him. The first time he sees me through his window, he throws a chair at me and it breaks and crashes to the ground. The next time, he shouts horrible obscenities at me. He screams until he can't breathe and his face turns red and he collapses from the exhaustion. After that I only come at night.

Prim spends most of her hospital volunteer hours with Peeta. He's not dangerous to anyone but me. On bad days he tries to convince Prim to poison my food or smother me in my sleep, but mostly they just do what they used to do. Read. Draw. Talk. Peeta tries to help her study, but he can't focus on anything more than a few minutes before his head pounds. They have to keep the lights in his room dimmed. He still can't eat solid food. Haymitch visits every day. When he's there Peeta mostly stares at a wall, but he doesn't stop showing up.

My nightmares are worse. I don't sleep. Despite protests, I request to be moved into a separate compartment next to my mom and sister. It's not fair to them that I never sleep, but the space feels isolating. Prim offers to stay with me for the day, but she's already missed enough class.

"It's okay, little duck," I manage. She hugs me tight before leaving. I stare at the walls. I linger in this place between okay and not. My new compartment has a window just like my old one did for the cat. I stare at it. I wish I was cat-sized, that I could escape through a tiny window and never come back. There's a bang on my door.

"You've got to come to Command," Finnick insists. I'm not agile enough to run, but in his urgency Finnick grabs my arm and drags me down the hall behind him. When we reach our destination, I find the usual suspects. Coin, Boggs, a number of Coin's top military and strategic aides. Plutarch. Fulvia. What's drawing the attention is Haymitch, standing in the middle of the room, screaming.

"She's been confined in a holding cell," Coin says calmly. It only takes me a second to place who this argument is about. Effie.

Haymitch's voice drops to a near growl. "Get. Her. Out."

"We have no idea where her allegiance lies," Coin replies. "She's Capitol-born. The recovery team had no orders or permission to rescue anyone other than the captured Victors. She should have been left behind." Haymitch is visibly fuming. Coin ignores him. "Look what happened with the boy! Snow could have planted her down there with the intent of having us rescue her and bring her to 13. She could be collecting information on our infrastructure, our troop counts, our weaponry–"

Haymitch flips the table over and paper flies everywhere. "I'm going down to her cell now. The guard better have discharge orders by the time I get there, or I swear I'll start my own little revolution. You think people follow you? Maybe here in 13 they obey your orders, but out there in the real world, they follow her." Haymitch points to me. The room is silent, all eyes staring at their Mockingjay.

"I want Effie released," I croak. "She's not a threat."

Coin scribbles something on a piece of paper before she folds it and hands it over to Haymitch. He turns and rushes out the door. Her pale silver eyes fall on mine, and I register an emotion. Fury.

"I guess the real world isn't the only place they follow me," I mutter loud enough for her to hear. It's the most words I've been able to speak since the attack. I turn on my heel and exit the room. I feel Finnick behind me.

"I guess we know now where she gets it from," I hear one of the military leaders sneer before the door closes after us.

The next couple of weeks are a blur. Coin has delayed my deployment to Distict 2 to allot me time for recovery. As such, Finnick has received a deferral as well. It would not be a wise use of resources to split the camera crew between 2 and 13. Even though I'm technically the Mockingjay, they get a lot of usable footage from Finnick.

Annie is discharged and moves in to Finnick's compartment. I spend a lot of time over there, even when it's just Annie. Her presence is somehow calming over this whole storm. I'm surprised by how much I like her, but I sense the same thing about Annie that Finnick senses about Peeta. They're different than us.

I keep my mind occupied with the rebellion. Gale and I attend strategy meetings. I resume any physical training I can bear, although it's slow moving. Weaponry. Tactics. Urban warfare. It's all an indistinguishable haze of textbooks and exercises and drills.

I want to be gone from here.

I want to be in the field.

I want to fight.

I want to hide in a closet and never come out.

I want to evaporate.

We meet about Peeta – Plutarch, me, Haymitch, the medical staff. Has he improved? Marginally. Is it actual improvement, or just distance from the trigger word? We don't know. Will he revert back if he hears the word Mockingjay again? We're unsure. Should we try to retrigger him? Silence.

"What do you know?" I throw out angrily.

"Not a lot," they admit.

That day I can't help walking by his room. I know he's awake. When he spies me outside the window, he begins rocking and muttering to himself. I leave.

Cressida finishes the rescue propo. Its power is indisputable. She's tells a story. She shows Peeta's capture. She weaves in Capitol footage from Peeta's propos. He's resilient at first, and then she shows his decay into erraticism. When the footage shows him the night of the rescue, balled up on the floor of his cell, covered in blood, I almost gag. His leg is missing. This is too personal.

"Does he know you want to show this publically?" I ask.

"It doesn't matter what he wants. This was part of the immunity agreement. Unless you'd like us to pursue action on his calls for a ceasefire?" Coin asks. I'm silent.

The footage shows me carrying him out of the dungeon. The intimate moment on the hovercraft, when I push his hair from his face. The rebellion is just as quick to exploit us as the Capitol. Maybe they are driven by a more noble cause, but I still feel naked in my seat. Across the screen, the words flash - _Take Back What's Ours._

There's no hint of the hijacking, of what actually happened to him. I rise to leave the room without comment. This was my justification for going on the misson, so I can't really protest, but it makes me feel sick.

"Katniss," Cressida's voice rings out. I stop and look back over my shoulder. My eyes feel dead. "I want you to be okay with this," she says. I know what this propo will do for the war effort. I'm not naïve.

"Air it," I say, and walk out.

That night I visit Peeta. The medical staff has stopped questioning me. I stand outside his room and watch him sleep. Peeta has three guards that rotate 8-hour shifts so that two are always on duty. Xander, the youngest, is the most friendly. He has a wide smile and often makes idle chatter with me when I show up. The woman's name I don't learn. She acknowledges my presence but isn't interested in knowing me. The other man is Haven. He's older. He reminds me a little of Boggs when Boggs is being serious.

I stare at Peeta through the glass. He starts to stir, and I get ready to step away from the window, but my feet will me to stay. Peeta's eyes open and he registers I'm there, on the other side of the glass. He doesn't scream. He just stares at me, not sure if I'm real or not.

"Hi," I mouth.

"Hi," he mouths back. Then he pulls the covers over his head and tries to shut me out.

When I show up in the morning, the guards are taken by surprise.

"I want to see him," I say.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," the woman says, her voice even.

"I don't care anymore," I reply dryly. They don't have direct orders to keep me out. They are only here to keep him in.

"Just… we'll be right here, okay?" Xander offers. I nod and slide the glass door open.

Peeta is sitting on his hospital bed. His face is still gaunt from lack of nutrition, his skin sallow. His lips are cracked, and IVs are attached to his arms pumping who knows what into his body. His hair, once golden and soft, looks dull and brittle. He eyes me warily as I enter the room. The guards stand outside his door on alert. I wonder if he more feels like he's been moved from one cell to another rather than rescued. He certainly hasn't been freed.

"Were you here last night?" he asks.

"Yeah, I come every night," I confess. He's not sure how to process that information, and I see him swallow hard.

"Trying to find an opportunity to kill me?" he asks.

"No, I…" The words get caught in my throat. "I miss you." I expect him to scoff or insult me, but he stays still. Silent. I sit on the chair next to his bed and his breath catches in his throat. The heart rate monitor starts beeping noisily. "Do you want me to leave?" I whisper.

"No," he exhales. He slips his finger from the monitor and the line falls flat.

"Do you want me to stay?" I ask. He doesn't answer.

Peeta gradually leans forward, his eyes staring at my face with an intense curiosity, like he's forgotten how to read and is staring at words he once knew. He lifts his hand slowly, and I hear the door open, the guards stepping inside. Without turning away from Peeta, I raise a hand signaling them to stop. My heart pounds in my ears, and I remember what it felt like to be just us. Peeta's hand moves slowly toward my face, like he's afraid I might burn him. I sit perfectly still, even though spit is welling up in my mouth and I feel like I'm drowning.

His fingers slide across my cheek, and he recoils back away from me.

"Why do I know what you feel like?" he gasps, utter confusion overwhelming his face, which is quickly replaced by horror.

Because you loved me. Because we spent hours learning what each other felt like. Because touching my skin anchored you. Because I'm cold, and you're hot like a furnace. Because your fingers are home when knotted in my hair. But I can't manage to say any of these things because I'm trying to swallow a sob and my throat is swollen in its attempt.

I rise to my feet and sit on the edge of his bed next to him. Peeta lifts his hand to my face again, this time his fingertips graze my jaw, my lips, ghosting over my skin like he's relearning me. He closes his eyes and breathes slowly. I hold my breath. My lungs scream for air but I don't dare move. He brings his other hand up and it slides across my cheek, sweeping into my hair. He leaves his eyes closed, because he's terrified of what he sees, but the feel of me is familiar. Peeta exhales a shaky breath, and a tear drops down his face. He opens his eyes suddenly, like he's remembered his name. His eyes drop to my neck, the bruises yellowing and ugly. He looks like he's trying to say something, but the wordsmith is mute. He doesn't know what he's doing.

"You should go," he finally whispers. I feel his hands start to tremble, and he pulls them from my face.

"Okay," I say quietly. I start to walk toward the door when his voice stops me.

"Katniss -" Peeta stands, and I turn back to face him. "I want to say something, but I don't know what it means."

"It's okay, just say it," I utter. I expect it to be hateful. I ready myself.

"Come get me," he breathes. I think the guards hear it as a threat, but I remember that night in my shower.

 _If I leave someday, come get me. Because I'm supposed to be with you. This is where I want to be._

"I'm trying," I whisper, and I remember us on my lawn, arguing because I pushed him away the second we got home.

 _You're supposed to come get me, remember?_

 _That's what I was trying to do, but -_

"Try harder," he says.

The room stills and I make a decision. I step forward and press my mouth to his. He immediately moves his mouth with me, his fingers sweeping up my cheek, knotting in my hair. I feel his lips caressing mine - chapped, dry, but his mouth hot and wet. Our kissing slows, turns deliberate. We kiss in a way that shows we knew each other, we _know_ each other, even if he's forgotten.

"Why do I know what you taste like?" he cries softly, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Because you loved me," I whisper back.

"Are you supposed to come get me?" he asks. He sounds like a boy.

"No," I answer back. "You're supposed to come get me."

"Will you anyway?" he says, his eyes trained on mine.

"Always," I whisper.


	14. Chapter 14 - Snow

My legs are burning as I sprint down the field. _Field_ is the term they use for a large indoor arena-type area with fake grass. To me a field chirps and moves with the wind. The grass feels like plastic under my shoes.

"Come on, Everdeen, is that all you got? You can run faster than that!" Finnick yells as he gains ground on me. I hear Gale screaming my name from the edge of the field. We're learning evasion tactics. I'm not going to be able to outrun Finnick, I know that. As I feel him close the gap between us, I suddenly stop and hunch over. Finnick, who is barreling full speed, goes flying over the top of me, at which point I shoot up my legs and launch him forward. He sprawls on the ground at my feet, the wind knocked out of him.

"Woo!" I hear Gale holler as he runs onto the field. He reaches me in seconds and lifts me in the air. " _That_ is why she got an 11!" he says to Finnick before dropping me on my feet.

"That's enough, Soldiers," our instructor calls, and we're dismissed for lunch. They aren't much for excessive celebration here. The homegrown students of 13 all watch us leave out of the corner of their eye. Their looks have shifted over the weeks from judgmental to curious to almost envious.

"I'm going to run upstairs and grab Annie. Meet you in the mess?" Finnick asks. I nod and he kisses my cheek before bolting down the hall.

"He's _happy_ ," Gale mocks as Finnick disappears around the corner.

"It's Annie. They've never actually been able to be together, because of..." I don't know how to word what to say next. "What he had to do in the Capitol," I finish.

"It's obnoxious," Gale says, grabbing a tray and filling it with today's rations. We find Prim and sandwich her between us. She giggles, hitting Gale's arm as he shifts into her lap. "Oh, sorry, I didn't even see you there!" he grins at her.

"Prim got a perfect score on her biology exam," I brag as I slide the apple off my tray and onto hers. She gives me the scolding look of a rule-follower. "It's a reward, just eat it," I tease, and she bites into the tart treat.

"So Katniss, um," Prim tries to find what she wants to say as she chews on the apple. "I had an idea today. I brought it up to Peeta's medical staff and I think they are going to do it."

At Peeta's name my stomach whirls. I try not to show it on my face. The last two weeks he's practically reverted back to how he was when he was first hijacked. There were even two days where he had to be restrained to his bed. We aren't sure if he had some exposure to the trigger again, or if there was a new trigger, or if this is just how it's going to be. These past few days he hasn't been overtly violent aside from throwing things at me, but he's been vicious in his speech. When I saw him last night, the violence seemed to ebb entirely, but was replaced by endemic fear. None of it is productive.

"It's kind of like a reverse hijacking. I said they should use morphling to get Peeta into a happy and submissive state, and then show him the real footage of you two," she offers.

"Do you think that would work?" I ask. My voice is small. More vulnerable than I mean it to be.

"I don't know, but it's worth a shot, right?"

I nod. "You, little girl, are more brilliant than anyone gives you credit for."

We finish our meals and head up to our rooms. Finnick never came down. Gale gives his door a devious grin when he drops me off at mine.

"We deploy tonight, can you really blame him?" Gale says, and I roll my eyes. "I'm going to go change, see you at training in an hour?" I nod. Training means hunting, means being outside, and I need to get out of here. Clear my head. I walk into my cabin and Gale gives me a concerned look before he heads back down the hall.

As the door clicks closed, I stare at the empty walls of my room. I open my closet and pull out my father's hunting jacket. I run my palm over the smooth, worn leather, and for the first time since Peeta attacked me, I feel a sob boil up from my stomach and escape out of my mouth. I can't reach him. He's right in front of me, he's right here, and I can't reach him. I sit on the floor of my room, face buried in my knees, and rock slowly back and forth in a kind of self-nurture that just makes me feel seasick. When I hear a light knock on my door I sweep my hands under my eyes and straighten my gray clothes before answering it.

"Are you okay?" Prim asks tenderly. I shake my head and plop back to the floor. I don't normally cry in front of her. I don't cry in front of anyone. I have rules. Prim sits next to me and cradles my head in her lap. "You don't have to be, you know. You don't have to be strong all the time."

"We ship out tonight to Two. Is it bad that I want to go?" I say quietly. It's just so hard to be here.

"No, it's not bad," Prim says, twirling her fingers in my hair. "Are you going to say goodbye?" She means to Peeta. We don't have to say his name.

"Yeah," I say, but uncertainty lingers in my voice.

"You don't have to," she says. "I can tell him if you want."

"No, I should do it." Our visits haven't been easy. It's like I'm torturing him all over just by being near him. Like the sight of me hurts. But I can't leave. I'm selfish, I know that.

Prim braids my hair and I head up to hunt with Gale. I'm mostly distracted and the woods doesn't provide the solace I was hoping to find. We take down a doe. Greasy Sae has picked up a job in the kitchen, and we drop the catch off with her. I should shower and change, but instead my feet wander to Peeta's room. He sits bent over on his bed, drawing in a notebook.

I open the door. I don't need to say it's me. He knows. We sit in silence for a long time as he scratches the lead against the paper. He seems okay, if not somewhat disconnected.

"They took her from me," he says, not moving from his bed, not looking up from his sketchpad. He speaks in this non-sequiturs, like I'm entering a conversation that was already happening in his mind.

"I know," I answer, although I don't.

His pencil scribbles across the page. I walk up to his notebook and see me, but not me. I have fangs, dripping with blood. A pile of bodies at my feet. Eyes with slits like cats. I slowly close the notebook in his lap and place it on the table. He withdraws away from me, his eyes trained on my hands. I sit on his bed, my heart beating a spontaneous rhythm behind my ribs. I feel him retreat from me. His dread hangs between us, and he tries to swallow it down.

"Close your eyes," I whisper. He stares at me for a moment, but then he lets his eyes drop closed. I don't say a word, I just eliminate the negatives. The sight of me. The sound of me.

"You smell like the woods," he says. I smile a little, but I don't speak. I don't want to do anything to tamper with his delicate hold on reality. We sit cross-legged facing each other. His hands rise gingerly and he traces my fingers, one at a time. His hands are shaking. His eyelashes flutter.

"Keep your eyes closed," I breathe, keeping any tone out of my voice. He nods. We stay this way for a while, his fingers running over my palms until his hands still. Until his breathing evens out. I move closer to him on the bed. I turn around so I press my back into his chest, and a breath hitches in his throat. I feel his heart thudding hard in his chest, beating into my spine like a hammer on a piano string.

"Can I touch you?" he asks softly. I nod yes, but I'm not sure if he felt it, so I hum in agreement. His hands reach the hem of my shirt. I can feel his body tensing, and he slips his hand under my top. His palms are rough, and he runs them over my skin slowly like he's tracing pictures on my waist. He exhales as he buries his face in my neck. His lips run where my pulse drums in my throat, and I hold my breath. "I remember you," he murmurs, and he slides his hand along my ribs. I realize the _her_ from before is me. The _her_ they took away. The girl he used to know. I lock my jaw to keep from trembling. "You smell the woods," he breathes into my hair.

"I leave tomorrow," I whisper. His brow furrows as he opens his eyes. "Eyes closed," I order gently, and he shuts them again.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"I can't tell you that," I answer.

"How long will you be gone?" he says softly.

"I don't know," I reply truthfully.

He exhales, and it tickles the nape of my neck. I squirm slightly in his arms, Peeta's fingers press into me, like he wants me closer. I let myself sink into him, and I can feel every rise and fall of his chest. His free hand tangles in my hair and I feel his hips rock forward gently. I sigh and he jolts back from me.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry," Peeta cries out, pushing himself away. He opens his eyes.

"It's fine! It's fine!" I say soothingly, turning to face him, but the vision of me in his bed overwhelms him. Peeta buries his face in his hands, rocking.

"It's not fine! You're a Mutt! You're just trying to trick me!" he rambles.

"Peeta, close your eyes," I beg.

"What, so you can slit my throat?" he cries, throwing his hands up. "You'll kill me. You'll kill every one of them! You won't stop!" His voice starts to rise. He crawls away from me on the bed. "Just leave me alone! You make me sick! Leave me alone!" he screams.

"It's not real. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real. Snow lied to you," I insist, and Peeta's body goes completely rigid.

 _Snow_.

Oh no. Oh no.

Peeta's pupils dilate and consume his eyes with blackness. He looks at me with savagery in his heart.

"Peeta…" I utter, but I'm not going to get him back from this. The guards push their way into the room, weapons drawn. I'm so stupid. Haven's going to kill him. Obviously they've been told to put him down if he threatens the Mockingjay again. I shouldn't have come here.

I take both hands and shove Peeta backwards into the bathroom. I slam the door and lock it behind us. I hear Haven banging into the other side just as Peeta grabs my shoulders and hurls me against the wall. I drop to the floor, my head searing in pain. I'm dizzy and try to concentrate on distinguishing the tiles from one another, but I can't get my eyes to focus. Instead of going after me, though, Peeta smashes his hands into the wall.

"Get out of here!" he screams at me, but I pull him back. His fists are bloody. "One of us is going to get hurt, you or me, so just get out!" he pleads. "Let it be me," he manages, but then his eyes roll and I feel him shaking with fury. His voice is guttural, rabid. "Get out!"

I reach behind me to the tiny shower stall and turn the faucet on hot. I take two steps forward and push him inside. The water pours down and drenches his clothes. I step in after him and we barely fit, my body pressed against his. I can feel his muscles clenching and releasing rapidly as he digs his hands into the wall. _Remember. Remember._ He's panting with fervor, confused and furious until he looks down at my feet.

"You're wearing your shoes in the shower," he murmurs. When he looks back up at me, his eyes are blue. "How did we get in here?" he asks. The door to the bathroom swings opens and the guards charge in with medical staff in tow. They throw back the curtain to find us standing in the shower fully clothed, steam rising around us. Blood drips from Peeta's knuckles, staining the water red before it swirls down the drain.

"He's fine," I state, pushing him protectively behind me.

"He wasn't," Haven responds.

"He's fine now," I answer, and it takes a minute, but they finally retreat from the bathroom. Peeta isn't paying any attention to them. He's rambling.

"You kissed me," Peeta breathes. "In the shower. The time you meant it. The time you had something to say. You kissed me in the shower."

"I did. I kissed you in the shower," I repeat. He looks up at me. His hair is plastered to his head. I put my hand on his chest and I feel his heart panicking under my fingertips. He watches the blood at our feet.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks, barely audible.

"No, you punched the wall," I answer, my hands on his face.

"I threw you, though. I threw you," he rambles. "It's not safe for you here," he breathes, his eyes dropping to the drain. "You should go. Please, just go."

Instead, I lean up and kiss him. He doesn't kiss me back. My fingers go to his jaw, grazing it gracefully. My tongue lightly caresses his lower lip. His mouth starts to move against mine slowly. Deliberately. Maybe his words are a mess but he knows there's more than one way to say something. I tug his hair slightly and he breathes into me. "Katniss…" It's more an exhale than words.

"Stay with me," I whisper, only he doesn't answer. "Peeta, stay with me."

"If I hurt you… If I killed you… I'd never be able to live with that. I…" Peeta stares at my face and blinks away tears. "I want you to go."

"You're lying," I say, one hand still knotted in his shirt.

"Please go," he says again, shoving my hands away and sliding his back down the wall as he drops to the ground.

"No," I say firmly.

"GET OUT!" he screams, his voice breaking. "Get out. Get out. Get out." I stand and stare at him, broken on the floor of his shower. "I don't love you anymore. I can't love you. You are hurting me. You being here hurts. Just get out," he says one last time, before turning his body away from me. I try to touch his hand, but his arm whips out and he curls himself into a protective shell. "Please go."

I open the shower, leave the room, and walk straight to the Hangar, my clothes clinging to my body. I board a hovercraft for District Two and watch the water pool around my boots. The water that was once scalding hot has turned cold, and I feel myself start to shiver. Gale's eyes shift to me.

"I found another trigger," I say, and everyone in the hovercraft looks up. "It's Snow."


	15. Chapter 15 - Two

District 2 is a very different place now than it was on the Victory Tour. All the districts are. My time here isn't clear in my head. Peeta and I weren't speaking. I blocked out most of the tour of the mine. The speeches were a special kind of torture. The crowds cheered like they were inebriated with praise. They didn't care that I'd killed their children. I killed Cato and was at least partly responsible for Clove. That night at the dinner I got drunk.

I question Coin sending me here, but it's the only district still unaligned with the rebellion.

District 2 is a strategic stronghold for the Capitol. It would be a deafening blow to take it. The Capitol would lose an army of Peacekeepers, plus their reserve fleet of hovercrafts and a number of weaponry caches. At the center of District 2 lies an impenetrable mountain that houses the heart of the Capitol's military. If we took the base, they wouldn't be entirely crippled, but it's a strike that would cause considerable damage.

I relay Plutarch's message to Commander Lyme – the point of our journey, the clear mission outlined by Coin and her team. Film the Mockingjay. Take the mountain.

"Take the mountain. As if we didn't already know that," Lyme says with some bitterness in her voice. She reminds me a little of Paylor. I wonder if all the rebel leaders are as disillusioned as these two are. Not disillusioned. Just… acrimoniously aware of the cost of war. She takes us through virtual maps of the base, and enumerates on all their failed attempts to penetrate its security.

"It's a tough nut to crack," Boggs adds, and I see the corner of Lyme's mouth raise.

"I like that," she smirks, and from then on out we refer to the base as the Nut.

Lyme has a commanding presence. She stands well over six feet. She's muscular and has a strong jaw. She's naggingly familiar, though, and the thought keeps tugging at me until I realize I'm in the presence of another victor. I can't remember her Games, although I'm sure I saw pieces of it. I try to remember her presence as a mentor, but it evades me. There is no lack of mentors in 2. _What did they do to you?_ I wonder. What would happen if they got a career victor who didn't want it? She had to have volunteered. No one reaped from 2 actually goes. So what changed for her? When?

I run my hands over my face and look at the rest of the table. I see leaders from 2 and neighboring districts whose faces I don't recognize. The transports from 13 – Boggs, Finnick, Gale. The camera crew stands behind us, not recording but ready.

Octavia traveled here too. I tried to insist they keep my whole team together, but 13 thought it was impractical. She's in her quarters. She's been very quiet since her time in captivity. My entire prep team visited Peeta after his rescue. Octavia made him flowers out of some colored paper I confiscated from a supply closet. When 13 tried to find out who wasted the resources, we were all silent. They didn't throw the flowers away, though. They're still in Peeta's room. Or at least, they were last I knew. I'm sure 13 will get rid of them eventually. Insist on recycling them for usable paper, as if four sheets on dull orange makes any difference to anyone.

I've started referring to all of 13 as a unit, as though 13 thinks and acts as one. 13 did this, or 13 says that. I've decided, with few exceptions, 13 is a hive mind. A hive mind with an unlikeable queen. _They aren't the bad guys_ , I remind myself. I'm not sure they are the good guys either. We just have a common enemy. 13 is an ally.

Lyme has been talking for a while and I try to focus on her words. I'm frustrated District 2 has turned out to be just more meetings. I want to be in the field, helping the cause. The group is dismissed.

"You ready for tomorrow?" Finnick asks, and I nod, although I can't be sure as I have no idea what was said about tomorrow.

"Wanna go hunt?" asks Gale as we file out of the meeting.

"Is there a place for that?" I reply.

"They said the woods just west of here are safe. Well, relatively safe. Lyme said we can go as long as we're back by sunset."

"Yeah, let's do it," I say. I swing by my room and pick up my dad's hunting jacket and a bow. Gale knocks and I follow him down the narrow hall of the barracks. I watch his shoulders move under his shirt as his arms swing at his side, and I remember following him in our woods back home. The air outside is turning cold as the day dies. I forgot about seasons back in 13. I wonder how those people mark the passage of time. Certainly not the way I do, with newly burnt leaves and fresh snow. If we were home, the Harvest Festival would be soon. How many weeks was I down there? I shake my head.

Gale mirrors my silence. He knows I'm thinking and gives me room. We shoot some fowl and sit on a stone, cleaning our kills. I catch Gale watching me, and he drops his eyes back to his task.

"I'm okay," I say, yanking feathers and dropping them at my feet.

"Did he… when he flashed, did he hurt you?" Gale asks.

The he is Peeta. The he is always Peeta.

"No," I say dismissively, although my shoulder is still sore from where it hit the cold, hard tile.

"How is that? Did the guards come in?" he asks.

"Yeah, but… it's almost like he didn't flash all the way. Or he had some control when he did," I say.

"Are you sure it was a new trigger, then? Maybe he was just acting out from before."

"No, it was a trigger," I say decisively. "It was just like before except… I think he knew who I was."

"So no one was hurt?" Gale asks. I didn't say that. I'm quiet. "Katniss, did he hurt someone?"

"He hurt himself," I utter. "He…" My throat feels large, like it is swelling shut. "He smashed his fists into the wall and told me to get out. It was like he couldn't _not_ lash out, but he turned it on himself." I wonder what Peeta's hands look like today. I'm sure he needed stiches. He probably broke them. I wonder if he can draw, if he can hold a pencil.

"Katniss," Gale starts and takes a deep breath. "Maybe it's time for you to walk away."

"Why would you say that?" I lash back, but I hear Peeta in my head. _You are hurting me. You being here hurts me. Please just go._

"Look, this is not about us, and what happened between us. Or I guess, what didn't happen between us. I just worry about you. He could hurt you. He could kill you." Gale's not coming from a possessive or jealous place. I can tell from his tone. This is my best friend, and he's genuinely worried. "That, whatever that thing is… That is not Peeta. If you ask me, he's the Mutt, not you."

"He's Peeta," I say solemnly.

"How do you know that?" Gale shoots back.

"Because he'd rather break his hands than hurt me. Because he'd rather lose me, even if it means losing his one path back to sanity, than put me at risk. Because he thinks exactly what you do, and he told me to leave." I stand up from the rock, my gaze locked on the game as I stuff it in my bag. I can't look at Gale.

"What did you say?" Gale says, trying to catch my eye and failing.

"I left, and I came here."

Gale steps forward and wraps his arms around me. There's no pretense here. I let myself sink into his chest. It's getting dark. We need to get out of the woods, but instead we just wait for the immediacy of the pain in my chest to recede. We wait for it to return to the dull, constant ache.

Back at the base we build a fire. Finnick pulls himself up on one side, and Gale on the other. We watch the flames flicker and I remember Cinna. His kindness. His even temper. His steady nature. _I'm still betting on you, girl on fire._

Finnick wanted to hunt with us earlier, but he let Gale have that time with me. I wonder if Gale knows he's been pegged. Gale turns in eventually, but Finnick and I stay up.

"You have no idea what we're doing tomorrow, do you?" he asks, breaking a twig and throwing it in the fire.

"What gave it away?" I ask with a half-smile.

"Because your mind is a thousand miles away from here," he says, looking at me knowingly. I don't acknowledge that he's right, but he doesn't need me to. "I'm going to ask Annie to marry me when we get back."

A foreign feeling sweeps over my body and spreads a grin across my face. Glee. It's glee. I can see him beaming as the fire flicks bits of light on his face. He tells me about when Annie was his tribute he kept her at a distance. He knew she didn't have a chance to win. Even though 4 is a Career district, Annie was obviously weak and no one was interested. Her district partner was a good kid, looked out for her as best he could, until he couldn't anymore.

"Did you love her right away?" I ask.

"No, I didn't," he says, his eyes gazing out into the night. "She kind of crept up on me."

I pull him into a tight hug. "Congratulations," I whisper.

"She hasn't said yes yet," he says, his chin buried in my shoulder. He's quiet for a minute, and he squeezes me hard. "Remember back when you wanted to kill me?" he teases.

"That hasn't changed," I deadpan, dropping my arms and shoving his knee. "So what are we doing tomorrow?"

"Well, District Two is a network of villages," he says, and I nod. I remember that from Effie's lecture. _Effie_. My chest twangs with guilt. I've only been to see her a few times since her rescue. I shake it off.

"Yeah, I remember." They are very proud. It's almost like they have their own mini-districts. It's why their district partners are so combative, even with each other. They aren't just bringing honor to their district, they are also bringing honor to their village as well.

"There's a small nest of loyalist villages in the southern part of the district. Their Peacekeeping force has taken rebel hostages. Lyme wants to move on them tomorrow," Finnick explains.

"Good. Let's do it," I answer.

"They want you in full Mockingjay mode," he says. I wonder what my participation will be. If it was up to everyone else, I'd just rush in at the end and make a speech. Not get my hands dirty. Not actually help.

"I'm sure Octavia will have me up early then," I answer. I imply I should go to bed, but instead I stare at the fire. "Sometimes I don't feel like I'm not doing enough. Sometimes I wish I could just slip into the front lines and make an actual difference."

We loiter for a while, but eventually we smother the fire and head to our rooms. I drop onto my cot and stare at the ceiling. The barracks are bare save the necessities. I don't need more than that anyway. I roll on my side. I wonder if Peeta is sleeping. I wonder if I'll die tomorrow. I wonder if the last thing he'll ever say to me is that he doesn't love me anymore.

At least here I can help people.

Morning comes early, and Octavia preps me in my room. It's cramped with two people, but we make do. She's not talkative, but she's gentle as she weaves my hair into a braid.

"Do you want the rebels to win?" I ask her softly.

"I… I think so?" she says as she hides a pin in my tresses. "I don't want there to be any more Games. And I think the class system is reductive." I raise an eyebrow at her, and she smirks a little. I've always thought of her as flighty and superficial, but it just shows that prejudice goes both ways. I'm a dirty girl from the Seam of District 12 with unkempt nails and a stubborn jaw. What does that say about me? That I take no pride in myself? I assumed Octavia was sweet if not short-sighted, but am I just projecting what I think of anyone with zealous hair and powdered skin? "All done," she chirps, and steps back to assess her work. "Be careful today," she says with a hand on my shoulder, and then she leaves me alone in my room.

I walk down the hall to the Command center. Lyme is explaining the ambush operation to the soldiers participating in today's mission. I slip in next to Boggs, listening and nodding. Lyme gives the order to deploy, and Boggs shoots me a sure look.

"You're ready for this Mockingjay," he says and he straightens his back. "Troops fall in!"

With that, I'm headed to the frontlines.


	16. Chapter 16 - Assault

We descend into the Capitol stronghold on foot. The rebel captives are being held in the southernmost village, which is also the largest. It is surrounded by a half dozen smaller villages that are part of the Capitol network. We need to disable to Peacekeeping force in each. The plan is to have the rebel operatives take out the smaller villages and signal when they have control of the comms. Then the elite force, myself included, will storm the larger village. The groups begin to divide as we near the web of settlements. I follow Boggs and the camera crew trails behind me silently, film rolling. We take position outside the north wall and wait for the signal. We count as the smoke clouds fill the air.

One base taken. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Move.

Boggs signals with his hand and we each slip over the wall and into the main village. The Peacekeepers won't be expecting a covert attack in broad daylight. They assume a morning attack would come as a direct affront and that a stealth strike would be under cover of nightfall. Gale and I, along with a few other rebels, break formation and head to the barracks where the prisoners of war are expected to be held. Finnick follows Boggs to the Peacekeepers' base. Castor, one of the twin cameramen, breaks away from the crew and pursues Finnick, who rolls the staff of his trident lightly in his fingertips.

We get in position and watch Boggs's team in Cressida's monitor. They light a diversionary smoke bomb at the far end of the base. It goes off silently and smoke fills the area. They want to take the enemy out without guns. Gunfire will alert reserve forces, and we don't have a shot facing the entire corps at once. We need them to come in waves.

Finnick swings his trident around his body and enters the smoke. He is immediately attacked by the first responding Peacekeeper, and he swings the staff of his trident around the man's throat until the lack of oxygen causes the Peacekeeper to collapse. Finnick drops him to the ground. Finnick is the embodiment of a Career Victor, and he's absolutely terrifying. Another Peacekeeper charges forward, and Finnick jams his trident into his chest and hurls him over his head. Boggs steps inside and goes fist-to-fist with another, dropping him with a powerful swing to the jaw. The other rebels follow suit and soon it's a mess of fists and flesh and force and fog. When the smoke clears, the ground is littered with Peacekeepers.

"That's a go," Boggs speaks into his communicuff, and we hear the command and move forward. I nock an arrow as we creep toward the barracks. Our team is smaller, five altogether, not counting the camera crew. We expect only a limited number of guards, but I hear a sudden pop. When I look to my left, the man next to me drops hard. I stare at his face, now slag, jaw hanging open like a broken hinge on a door. His forehead has a small red hole, but crimson blood seeps out of the back of his head, staining the ground around him red.

"Sniper!" Gale screams and pulls me to the side for cover. Pop! Pop! Pop! Dirt flies as the bullets pepper the ground. Gale takes aim with his crossbow. "He's too far!" Gale calls back through the scope. "Can you get him?" I lift my arrow and eye the sniper. His body is hidden by the rest of the roof, but I can see his head just over the peak, spying down below. Yes. I have a shot. I nod.

"Take it!" Gale shouts. I breathe out and concentrate on my target. He turns his face just slightly and I still my hands in place. He's just a boy. Eleven, maybe. I blink, and when my eyes close I see Boggs hugging his daughter tight. I see Posy, laughing and snuggled in Hazelle's lap. I open my eyes and stare at the child. _Everyone has a story, Katniss._ Why is this boy on the roof? My mind wheels. We can wait. We're safe in our current location. When Boggs arrives we can use a smoke bomb to force him off the roof and disarm him on the ground.

"Katniss, take the shot!" Gale cries, and I shake my head. "Katniss!"

"Wait for Boggs!" I call back.

"Take the shot!" Gale looks at me and stands, exposing himself to the child soldier.

"Don't," I breathe, and everything slows down. My ears ring in the silence. Gale steps out in front of the barracks. He lifts his hands over his head, making himself an easy target for the sniper, who raises his rifle and takes aim. I blow breath through my lips and let my arrow fly. It penetrates the boy's eye and he slouches over. His body gives way to the pitch of the roof and he rolls down off the shingles and slams into the ground. I flinch at the thud of his body, at the arrow protruding from his skull.

"What the hell was that?" I scream, stepping out and shoving Gale in the chest.

"You needed motivation," Gale answers. "I believe in you, Katniss. I knew you had that shot."

"He was just a kid! We could have waited! Boggs will be here any minute!" I'm nearly hyperventilating I'm so angry. The words fall out of my mouth before I even process them.

"Waited for what? You took him down!" Gale replies.

"Not every shot has to be a kill shot. Some of us need to survive this war," I spit back.

"Some of _us._ Not _them_ ," he states divisively.

"He's from District 2! He _is_ one of us! It's not that black and white!" I hiss.

"We've been at war for months. They've had enough time to choose the right side. That makes him one of them." Gale retorts. I just stare at him. I can't even formulate a response.

"You have no idea what their lives are like here. You have no idea what forces them into this decision," I ramble. "You can't just shoot your way out of every situation!"

"As I remember it, you were right there beside me in District Eight shooting down those bombers," he answers.

"They were killing people!" I scream.

"He just killed one of our men!" Gale steps forward and yells in my face. I stare down at the body of the fallen rebel. I didn't even learn his name. I saw him die, I saw this intimate, personal moment, and I don't even know his name. "When did you get trigger shy?" he quips.

"I'm not trigger shy. I just believe that taking a life should be a last resort, especially when…" I lose my words as I stare at the boy on the ground. "We had another option here." I run my hands over my face. "We need to unite the districts. We need to stand together against the Capitol. We don't just indiscriminately kill anyone that stands in our way. We don't kill children. That's what _they_ do. We are better than that."

"We need to use whatever means necessary to take down the Capitol and end this war," he replies.

"You sound like Coin," I throw back, and Gale's face grows red with anger.

He leans down to me, spitting his words. "I already chose you over her. When are you going to choose me, huh? When are you going to back _me_ up?"

"When I recognize you," I answer, and turn my back to him. I see the red record light of the camera flashing in my face. "Shut it off," I hiss indignantly as I push past them.

I hunch over on the ground and close my eyes. I just killed a child. I just killed another child. Nothing ever changes. It's just another Hunger Games, another Arena. Only this time I don't have Peeta. This time I'm alone in the grays.

I hear footsteps and the primary unit approaches. Finnick sees me knelt over and drops the ground. My eyes drift to the body across from me, and Finnick sees the boy with the mockingjay arrow in his head.

"Oh, Katniss," he breathes.

"I know," I say.

After a few minutes Boggs gives the order to break into the barracks. There are at least fifty men, women, and children being held. The confines are meager. They've been sleeping on wooden floors. There are putrid buckets in the corners of the large, empty room. The place smells rancid.

"It's the Mockingjay! It's Katniss!" I hear whispers rise over the prisoners.

The people are unbearably thin, and one child's leg is so tiny it reminds me of a broomstick. The camera crew films us evacuating the refugees – feeble arms slung over rebel shoulders, tears of gratitude and disbelief. They blink and shield their eyes from the bright sun, having been subjected to nothing but darkness for months.

When the last hostage has been evacuated, I kneel in front of the boy. I gingerly remove my arrow from his head and set it on the ground. I brush his hair out of his face. I'm not leaving him here for the scavengers to pick apart. I slide my hands under his body and force myself to my feet, cradling him in my arms. His head drops to my chest, almost as if he's nuzzled into me, and I walk forward to the medic hovercraft. Boggs silently watches as I hold my chin up. This child deserves to be buried. This child doesn't get left behind.

I carry him back the entire way to camp. Finnick and I dig a grave in the woods and place his body inside. Cressida asks if she can come, and I agree. It's important we show our humanity. That people understand war has victims on both sides. One side is not always is righteous. The other is not always evil.

"I'm sorry," I whisper as I drop a handful of dirt on his chest. I remember a potent nightmare I had where Prim was drowning in sand. This boy was younger than Prim. Not even reaping age. I turn away and let Finnick cover him in soil. We return him to the earth.

I wonder if his mother will find him out here. I wonder if he will be alone. My voice finds its way to my throat, and a soft melody from years ago seeks the open air.

 _"I am here, though soft you tread above me._

 _And I am dead, as dead I well may be,_

 _For you will bend and tell me that you love me,_

 _And I will sleep in peace until you come to me."_

I walk out of the forest and don't look back.

 **A/N: Lyrics adapted from Oh Danny Boy.**


	17. Chapter 17 - War

The next days are spent discussing the Nut and nothing else. No assault on the Capitol will be successful with the base still operational. It needs to fall. Between meetings I visit the wounded. Film short propos with the camera crew. I spend a lot of times in the woods, although it's not as cathartic as it could be without an armed guard. Lyme wasn't happy about the idea of me out there by myself, but Gale and I aren't speaking and Finnick was sent back to 13, so I don't have much of a choice. Sometimes it's Boggs and it's not so bad. He's mostly quiet when he's not talking about his daughter.

Finnick was recalled to 13 when Annie landed in the hospital with pneumonia and went into hysterics in quarantine. I can't blame them for the precautions. After the infection that decimated District 13 years ago, any contagious illness is taken very seriously. Annie's immune system is likely still compromised from her time in captivity, so she was an easy host. But isolating her when she's already delirious with fever was bound to cause some kind of manic reaction. I wonder if Peeta is sick. I try to push the thought from my head.

I don't sleep. At night I sit in my room and try to focus on the mundane. The color of my sheets. How many different words there are for white. Ivory. Bone. Lace. Seashell. I remember Peeta trying to explain to me how cotton and alabaster were very different shades of white, but they looked the same to me. He and Cinna just laughed. I take the pearl out of my pocket and roll it between my fingers. I replay meetings in my head. Previous attempts to breach the Nut. Failures. Lessons learned. One night I do fall asleep and slip into a night terror. I scream until my voice is hoarse, and I wake to find my room filled with soldiers, guns raised. They assumed I was being attacked. One of them looks at me with a sympathetic gaze and I want to shove the butt of his gun into his teeth.

At the end of the week they fly out Beetee and a few other scientists and engineers from Special Weaponry. The brains, as Boggs calls them. I'm struggling to pay attention in the meetings. I know it's the lack of sleep. My skin looks ashen. I can't hold down any food and I live on coffee. Peeta always sweetened mine, but now I drink it black because the clouds of cream make my chest ache with longing and disillusionment.

Lyme drops a heavy folder on the table and it smacks loudly. I'm abruptly brought to attention. "The next person who suggests we take the entrances better have a brilliant way to do it, because you'll be the first one in, leading the charge!" I look over and notice Gale sitting on the windowsill, his brow furrowed in reflection. His mind is churning.

"Do we actually have to take the Nut? Or would it be enough to disable it?" he asks.

"Why, what do you have in mind?" Beetee asks, adjusting his glasses.

Gale peers out the window and points. "See there? Along the side of the mountain?"

"Avalanche paths," I mutter.

"Precisely!" say Beetee, already deducing Gale's plan ahead of the rest of us. "We could place some highly specialized explosives along the weak patches of the mountain and cause a massive quake, triggering rock and debris to collapse the entrances."

"Right. Think of a den of wild dogs. You can't fight your way in. You either have to flood them out or trap them in," he says.

Boggs drops his eyes to the blueprints of the Nut. "We can't do that. Their ventilation system is rudimentary at best. If we block the vents along the mountainside, anyone trapped inside would suffocate."

"We could preserve the train tunnel to the square. Allow them to escape in one controlled route," Lyme suggests.

"Not if we blow it up," Gale says gruffly. His intent is clear. Gale has no concern with preserving the lives of those in the Nut. This is a death trap. The room falls into silence. The reactions play out. Some nod their head in pleasure, vengeance fresh on their tongues. Others look distressed. I feel like my lungs have forgotten how to breathe.

"The majority of the mine's occupants are citizens of Two," Beetee states.

"So what? They are aligned with the Capitol. We'll never be able to trust them," Gale retorts.

"They at least should be provided a chance to surrender," Lyme insists.

"Why?" Gale argues, and the mood in the room shifts. He's nearly villainous until he spouts, "That's not a luxury the Capitol gave us in Twelve. Are you all forgetting that we watched our people burn? I saw children engulfed in flames, screaming for mercy. Mercy that never came as their lives were snuffed from this earth. Mercy that you expect me to offer these _traitors_?" He throws open the blueprints and circles the hovercraft entrances. "That is our target. Everyone inside is just collateral damage."

"We have some of our own inside. Spies. Prisoners being held against their will," another commander states.

"If I was a spy in there, I'd say bring on the avalanche," Gale says evenly. I know he's not lying. He would give his life to this revolution. My stomach hurts.

"We need to engage Coin and the rest of Command in Thirteen. Ultimately the call is hers," Lyme says.

Most of us are dismissed. Coin is ruthless, but she also is concerned about the preservation of humanity. I've sat in on meetings where Beetee laid out the risk to a sustainable population once war casualties reached a certain number. I'm not surprised when she orders us to conserve the train tunnel for evacuees, although Gale seems put off.

It takes the rebel soldiers three days of fighting to seize control of the square that directly abuts the train tunnel. Lyme wants the survivors surrendering in a rebel stronghold, and she delays the attack on the Nut until the square is won. Gale insists on joining the battle, but Coin remotely vetoes the idea. He's too valuable in the propos.

"I don't know how you stand this," he tells me as he monitors the firefight from a window overlooking the square. I don't reply, I just watch the flash of the guns before quietly going downstairs and locking myself in my room.

The morning of the mission we all stand on the roof and watch as a rebel hovercraft positions itself over the Nut. The loyalists inside don't even bother with anti-aircraft fire. Up until this point, the rebel forces have proved to be nothing more than a nuisance to the Nut's armor and artillery. The hovercraft drops the explosives according to Beetee's specifications. The idea is to target weak points in the vast mountains structure to cause a devastating avalanche of stone that will render the base disabled. The bombs explode and the land gives way. We watch as Beetee's targets prove fruitful, sending rubble plummeting down the side of the mountain. We can feel the mountain shudder, the land quaking under our feet.

What seems like the smooth execution of a calculated attack quickly turns into catastrophe. Entire regions of the mountain begin to cave, collapsing in on the people inside, obliterating any sign of humanity in its cavernous belly. I gasp, and I hear others do the same. We are witnessing the death of thousands of people. We are the cause.

 _What did we do?_

I imagine the chaos inside. Alarms screaming, people trying to flee only to find themselves lost in the unfamiliar terrain of wreckage. I imagine those that died instantly. Those that are crushed and can feel their lives slipping away from them. Those that burned to death, scorched by the heat of fuel and fire. Those that are there to witness the horror, only to ultimately be smothered by dust, suffocating in a slow, torturous way that makes you beg for death.

I step backwards from the crowd and turn away. Boggs moves to my side.

"We didn't bomb the train tunnel. Some might still get out," he offers, as if that's any solace. I stay on the roof until dark, long after the others have retreated inside. I listen to the pop of the ammunition below, as the remaining Peacekeepers not stationed in the Nut try to push their way inside, trying to reach their fallen comrades, and the rebels push them back.

I wish Peeta were here. Not… not Peeta now. The old Peeta. The Peeta who could explain to everyone why it's wrong to shoot at those trying to rescue the injured and hurt. There shouldn't be sides right now. There should just be recovery. We should be coordinating a rescue effort, but instead we leave that to those inside. We'll accept their surrender, but we won't save their lives.

I hear footsteps and I see Gale, tall and broad, his dark figure carved out of the skyline. I turn away from him. I can't even look at him. He sits on the ground beside me and picks at his shoes.

"You're cold," he says, and I pull my knees to my chest. The night air is frigid, the heat from the day burned into nothingness. I remember winters trapped on the wrong side of the fence in 12, huddling together for warmth until the power went out again. Gale offers his jacket but I don't accept it. I just stare at it on the ground, like I'm looking at a rotting animal carcass surrendered to the elements, crawling with worms and making its way back into the earth.

"It's like a mining accident," I whisper as I return my stare to the ruins. "We just buried those people alive." I rub my burning eyes. "Are we even the good guys? I can't tell anymore." He's quiet. "I spent years dreaming about my dad's death. Being trapped down there with him. Feeling the rock crush my body, feeling the air wheeze from my lungs, burning in an inferno."

"I felt it every time I went to work in the mines in Twelve," Gale says. "My dad's ashes were down there. It was like I was working in his tomb."

"Then how could you advocate for this?" I say, and I finally meet his eyes. I look at his face for the first time in what feels like years. He's older. He's not a boy anymore. His eyes are weary but his jaw determined. His face is narrower. He's always been tall, but his frame has filled out.

"Because the injustice has to stop. Because this is awful, but it's worth what we get in the end. Freedom is worth it," he answers.

"Is this freedom though?" I ask.

"This isn't freedom. This is war," he replies.

The door to the roof flies open and Boggs calls out to me. "You're needed Mockingjay."

I push to my feet and follow him as he runs down the hall, Gale's feet hammering behind me. I enter the Command room and there is a rush of activity. Octavia starts pulling off my clothes and I feel naked in my underwear in front of all these men. I know they've all seen me in less than this in the Games, but my skin prickles and I use my hands to cover my body until she pulls the Mockingjay suit over my shoulders. I look over at the board and there is a map of the train tunnel with directional arrows in varying colors. Troop formations.

"Here, you need this," Boggs says as he pulls back my hair and slides an earpiece in place. With his body so close, with his hands on my neck, for a moment I think of my dad. I can't seem to stop thinking about my dad today.

"Katniss, are you there?" I hear Haymitch in my ear.

"Yes, I'm here," I answer as Octavia knots my hair back into a quick braid. Haymitch starts talking and I look over to see Cressida, Castor, and Pollux rush in, still attaching their equipment to their bodies. Gale is in the corner throwing on a vest and assembling a rifle. My heart begins hammering in my chest.

"Our sources tell us the evacuees have a working train, and we expect a car to be arriving in the square any minute. We think they're likely armed. Coin wants you to give a speech," Haymitch relays.

"What? What good will that do?" I ask as Octavia adjusts the collar of my uniform.

"You could save a lot of lives, Katniss. Convince them to lay down their weapons. We're going to send you down now and keep you at a distance from the fighting. We'll project the speech over the train station sound system. You don't have to worry, I'll feed the lines word by word. You just have to repeat what I say," Haymitch says.

"Because we know how good that will work," I grumble.

"What?" Haymitch asks in my ear.

"Nothing," I mutter.

"Is the Mockingjay ready?" Lyme asks, and I nod. Someone loads my shoulder with my bow and arrows and I follow Boggs out of the Command station.

"I want to go with her," I hear Gale argue behind me. "She needs a guard." The door shuts and we are separated. I stare at Boggs's back as we leave the base and run for the city square that overlooks the train tunnel. His feet slam up the marble steps of the Justice Building, and I remember our Tour. I remember Peeta doing all the talking, holding my hand tight even though he was furious with me. Even his anger couldn't override the steadiness he brought to me. The warmth. The calm. I needed him, and he put it all aside because he understood what only another victor can. He understood remorse.

I stand on the stage and I'm startled when Octavia's hands reach for my face to make a few adjustments. I grab her wrists. "You shouldn't be here. It's dangerous." The words tumble from my mouth, my stomach a pit. If something were to happen to her, I'd lose it.

"I know you can do this, Katniss," she clicks, and then steps back to join the camera crew. A brilliant lamp clanks on and bathes the stage in light. It's practically as light as day.

"Alright, sweetheart, we need to make this quick. You're too exposed. You ready?" Haymitch asks. I nod. Stupid, he can't hear me nod. "Well you better be. Here goes."

I repeat after him.

"People of District Two, this is Katniss Everdeen speaking to you from the steps of your Justice Building, where –"

The train comes barreling into the tunnel and slams to a halt in the square. The train doors open and people tumble out onto the marble tiles. A cloud pours from inside the train, and I realize it is dust. It's what they are breathing inside. A spray of bullets goes off and the lights spit sparks before dying into the darkness of night. Something is burning, and I realize the train is on fire. Some of the people collapse to the ground, either injured or terrified. Others dart away, trying to flee. Others still charge out of the train, armed and ready for bloodshed. Another spray of bullets and the lights above me shutter black.

Suddenly there is gunfire spitting everywhere.

"Katniss, retreat!" Haymitch yells in my ear. I see a young man hobbling away from the commotion, dragging a gun behind him. He's bloody and burned, his body breaking under his own weight. He collapses, and a stray bullet slams into the ground next to him. He's not the enemy. Suddenly, he's just another victim of a mining accident.

"Wait! Hold your fire!" I scream to the rebels and I sprint toward the man. When I reach him I drop to my knees, running my hands over his body, trying to assess the damage. Flames streak up his back, and he smells of burning things – fuel, flesh, flame. At my touch he rolls over frantically, wild-eyed. He raises his gun and aims for my head, his hand shaking unpredictably.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you right now," he mumbles, breathing through the pain.

"I can't," I whisper.

"What?" he screams.

"I can't!" I cry. I wait for him to shoot me. I wait for him to put an end to the useless life I've been trying to cling to. Instead, he just stares at me. "You burned my district to the ground. We blew up your mine. We have every reason to kill each other. So just do it." I throw my bow to the ground and drop my hands to my sides. "Make the Capitol happy. I'm tired of killing their slaves."

"I'm not their slave," he mutters, but his voice quakes like his hands do. The barrel of the gun bounces like the tremors of a man riddled with age and disease.

"I am. That's why I killed Cato. And he killed Thresh. And he killed Clove. And Clove tried to kill me. It just goes around and around, and who wins? Not us. Not the districts. Always the Capitol. Always Snow. I'm tired of being a piece in his Games." I hear Peeta as the words come out of my mouth. Maybe he is here after all. Maybe he's always here.

The young man blinks at me uncomprehendingly. I drop to my knees before him, my voice low and urgent. "Why are you fighting with the rebels? With your victor? With people who were your neighbors, maybe even your family?"

"I don't know," says the man, his voice defeated, but his gun still on me. I rise and turn slowly in a circle, addressing the rebels with guns pointed on the square.

"And you! I come from a mining town. Since when do miners condemn other miners to die like that, and then stand by to kill whoever manages to crawl from the rubble?"

"Who is the enemy?" whispers Haymitch in my ear.

"These people"— I throw my arms out, I address rebel and loyalist alike – "are not your enemy! We all have one enemy, and that's President Snow. He corrupts everyone and everything. He turns the best of us against each other. Stop killing for him!" My voice rings out over the silence. My words hang in the air. "Tonight, turn your weapons to the Capitol. Tonight, turn your weapons to Snow!"

I feel the crowd shift. Weapons fall idle, muzzles pointed at the ground . The young man throws his gun away and buries his face in his hands. They say if you hear the shot, it wasn't meant for you, but when the gun pops, my head turns. Everything slows down. Pain sears through my chest as my body gives out. I look over to the cameras and see myself get shot in the glass lens.

"Katniss! Katniss!" Gale screams, but his voice seems far away. He's far away. So are the sounds of guns and crying in the street. And then it's all dark.

 **A/N: Disclaimer… Most of Katniss's speech was directly taken from the book with some movie dialogue sprinkled in and some edits from me.**


	18. Chapter 18 - Gray Walls

They wheel me into the hospital ward on a stretcher. My side is throbbing. It feels like I can't breathe, even though I know I can. I regained consciousness in the hovercraft. I must have hit my head when I fell. I see my mother, concern ready on her face. It's a look I've seen too often, a look I've come to know.

"Katniss!" Prim rushes toward me, and a few members of the nursing staff push the two of them back. After their protests are dismissed, my mother and Prim join Gale, who watches anxiously from the end of my bed. The medics slowly begin removing my Mockingjay suit. At my chest piece I cry out, and I hear a commotion from outside the room. The door swings open and Peeta bursts in.

"Oh my god," his voice drops, his eyes full of fear. "What happened to her?" No one answers. The medics just stare at him with a fearful expression. They aren't sure if he's here to kill me. They aren't sure who he will kill to get to me. "What happened to her?" he yells.

"She was shot," Gale says from behind, and Peeta turns to face him.

"How?" he asks desperately.

"She was in Two. She was shot by a Capitol sympathizer," Gale explains, keeping his tone even.

"What was she doing in Two?" Peeta probes, his voice strained. He turns back to me and I try to stay focused on him, but my eyes are still a little blurry. I want to formulate words but they are garbled in my throat.

"The bullet hit her armor. They said in the hovercraft she might have broken or bruised some ribs, but she should be okay," Gale replies. He doesn't answer Peeta's question.

"Why was she in Two?" Peeta asks again, the urgency growing in his voice.

"We're at war, Peeta. She's a rebel. She was fighting," Gale answers.

"We're at war," Peeta murmurs in response.

"Yeah," Gale says. Peeta's eyes shift as he tries to process what he's hearing, what he's seeing.

"You're okay?" Peeta asks, looking at me. His fingers feather over my hand, wanting to touch me and not sure he can. I nod slowly, wincing and breathing through my teeth as the last piece of armor is removed from my chest. My torso is badly bruised. It's shaped like a sun – the impact point of the bullet is deep and dark with bruises radiating out like sunbeams. At the sight of it, Peeta takes a step backward.

"Peeta, can you wait with me in the hall? I don't want to be in here," Prim asks gently. She's lying. She wants to be here with me and the sight of an injury doesn't turn her stomach at all. But she's being a little sister to Peeta right now. He nods but his eyes don't leave my chest. His hands are shaking, and Prim takes one in hers. He looks down at their hands, then into her eyes. She leads him into the hall. I see them sit against the far wall, but I'm too tired to hold my focus there for long.

"I suspect she may have a minor concussion," one of the nurses says, and they shine a light in my eyes. "Tell the doctor we need a CT scan." He turns his attention to me. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Katniss Everdeen," I manage to answer, my voice hoarse.

"Good. And where are you from, Katniss?" he asks.

"District 12," I utter.

"Her pupils look good and she's lucid," he says to the nurse behind him, his eyes still on my face.

"I'm tired," I mumble before I drift off.

 _Gunshots._

 _"I got her, give me an evacuation route!" I hear Gale shout._

 _The cold floor of the hovercraft pulling the heat from my body like a magnet._

 _It hurts to breathe._

The rest of the day the medical team runs tests and scans. I have hairline fractures on two ribs and I've bruised my spleen again. I suffered a mild concussion, but nothing like when I arrived in 13. I am able to hold down dinner. Haymitch stays for hours. I think I scared him this time.

I spend the night in the hospital for observation. Prim lingers until about midnight, when I kick her out and tell her to go get some sleep. She smiles at me with weary eyes before retreating to her room. It's quiet at night, save for the whirring and beeping of the machines connected to me through wires and needles and tubes. It's a mechanical melody that I focus on as I try to sleep. I close my eyes, but something shifts and when I look up, I see Peeta standing in my doorway. His fingers cling to the frame, but his eyes are fixed on me, clouded with worry.

"I'm right here. Go ahead," Xander reassures Peeta, and takes his place in the entryway. I meet Xander's chestnut brown eyes, and he nods once and shuts the door. He's going to get in trouble.

"I wanted to see, um, I was… Can I come in?" Peeta mumbles. I nod and he walks toward me warily. There's a chair next to my bed, and he grabs the back of it and pulls himself up beside me.

"Hey," he whispers.

"Hey," I whisper back.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Yeah," I exhale. "I'll live."

He cracks a half-smile and I don't quite know what to do with it. It's the first time I've seen him smile since the trigger. Since he changed. I want to take comfort in it, but I can't. I roll away from him and stare at the wall. The room is dark apart from the light given off by the machines I'm connected to, and I try to melt into it.

"Why are you here?" I ask, keeping my eyes fixed on the plain gray wall across from my bed. _You said you don't love me anymore._

"I don't know," he admits. We're both quiet. "Katniss?" I don't respond, but I hear him get up from his chair. I hear him exhale. Then I feel his weight on my bed. I feel him lift the covers. I feel his body curl up behind mine.

"I'm really tired," I whisper. I don't know if I can do this tonight. The push and pull.

"Me too," he says, and a tear slides down my face. He nooks his knees behind mine. He pulls my waist into his. I lean my back against his chest. Our legs tangle and I listen to him breathe, forcing himself into a deep, deliberate pattern. His hands glide up the side of my body and he weaves his fingers in mine. I hold my breath and try to stifle a cry, and my body trembles slightly. "Do you want me to go?" he whispers.

"No," I gasp, and with the release of air a sob escapes my mouth. I bury it in my pillow. He draws his hands to my back and rubs a knot in my shoulder. I know this isn't permanent. I know this isn't real. But for right now, I just want to sleep with him. I want to go back to the thing that built trust between us. I want the solace I can only find in the dark of night, in the comfort of his arms.

My breathing evens. His breathing evens. We doze in and out.

 _I see the child soldier fall, over and over and over. I see his body slouch, I see him slide off the roof. I hear him land with a thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. I scream, but all that comes out of my mouth is dust. I try to carry him, but he evaporates like fog in my fingers. Like he was never really part of this earth. Like he never will be again._

Something pulls me out of the nightmare and I wake, my chest heaving. Where am I? Where am I?

"Katniss, Katniss," Peeta repeats. He's in my bed. It takes me a minute to place my surroundings. The hospital. My side burns and I scrunch my face and clench my jaw. "You're okay," he whispers. I roll onto my back and Peeta props himself up on an elbow and hooks his fingers in my hair, pushing it away from my face. "Just breathe." I nod, closing my eyes and drawing in a deep breath. In, out, repeat. I open my eyes. Peeta's watching me, his expression knit in concern.

"You don't have to look at me if you don't want to," I whisper.

His blue eyes fix on mine. "I want to," he whispers back, and he shivers and lets out a slow breath. His eyes move all over me. He studies my face. I blush as he traces my neck with his eyes, and he fixates on my collarbone. "I want to."

"I'm going to touch you, okay?" I ask, and Peeta nods and swallows. He holds his breath and my fingers drop to the seam of his shirt. I feel his muscles clenching underneath my touch. "Lay on your side," I whisper, and he rolls to face me. Our lips are barely apart as I lift his shirt and expose his stomach. He locks his eyes on mine, unsure yet steady, and I roll away from him again. I lift my shirt and sink my body back into his, so the skin of his stomach is pressed against my back. "I just want to feel you," I whisper, and he breathes into the nape of my neck.

"Is this how it used to be?" he asks softly.

"Yeah," I whisper. We lie that way for a while. "Peeta?"

"Hm?" he hums quietly, not daring to disturb the night.

"Before I left, you said…" I try to get it out, but my voice cracks.

"I said what I thought I had to say to get you to leave," he answers, his voice still low.

"Being with me doesn't hurt?" I breathe.

"It hurts worse when I'm not," he answers, and we finally sleep.

Xander wakes us up before morning rounds. Peeta crawls out of my bed, his hair crumpled and his eyes blurry. He hesitates, and turns back to me.

"Thanks," he offers. I don't know what to say so I stay silent. They leave and my bed feels cold. I try to go to back to sleep but it's useless. I shower in the tiny stall in my bathroom, but lifting my arms over my head is excruciating. There's a large button to ring for assistance, but instead I just lean against the wall until there's no more soap in my hair and call it good.

I'm discharged from the hospital later that afternoon. Gale comes down to help me to my room. He tries to catch me up on the meetings I've missed, but I can't seem to focus on any of that.

"The propo will be done tonight. I can come get you if you want to view it in Command," he offers.

"Yeah, that would be good," I say. We reach my room and I look over my shoulder. Finnick's light is off.

"Annie's still down in the hospital. He hasn't left her room since he got back. Apparently Command isn't happy with his prolonged absence," Gale says. _Command._ Coin isn't happy. I open my door and am surprised to find I am not alone.

"Johanna," I exclaim as I find her sitting on my bed, going through my things.

"Hey roomie," she replies without looking up.

Johanna has been discharged from the hospital, and District 13 does not allow for solo accommodations without warrant. My time alone has come to an end. She looks up and spies Gale, who has remained defensively positioned behind me.

"Hey tall, dark, and handsome," Johanna says. Gale shifts his weight from one foot to another. Is Gale nervous? She rises to her feet and walks over to him. "How about you give me and Catpiss here some girl time, huh?" She wraps her arm around my neck.

"Sorry," I shrug to him, but he seems all too eager to accept.

"I'll be back in a few minutes to bring you to dinner," he says. I nod and he closes the door.

"When did you move in?" I ask. She could have been here for weeks. I have no idea.

"Just today. The head doctor says I need some _normalcy_. As if living in an underground bunker and shacking up with you is normal for me," she retorts. She steps closer to me, staring at my face. We've never really been friends. I visited her a few times in hospital, but she was mostly sarcastic and off-putting. With the immediate proximity, I notice a potent odor emanating from her body. Were they not bathing her down in the hospital? I start to wonder what kind of care that is when she sticks her hands in my pockets. It feels strangely violating have her in my clothes, but she fishes out what she wants and pulls a bottle of painkillers from my pants.

"You don't mind, do you?" she asks, but without waiting for my answer she throws a couple pills in her mouth. She sucks it almost like hard candy, and then swallows them dry.

Mind? How could I mind after Snow had her nearly tortured to death? I watch her as she reapplies the cap and tosses the bottle on her bed. Some of her hair has grown back, and her head is covered in soft downy fluffs.

"My shrink says I don't need morphling anymore. That I'm _healed_. What an idiot. He spends at least twenty minutes each session telling me how I'm completely safe. How about you, Mockingjay? Do you feel safe?" Johanna slurs.

"Right up until I got shot," I answer, and she rolls her eyes.

"Please. The bullet didn't even touch you. Cinna saw to that. And even he hadn't I'm sure your cousin would have thrown himself between you and a buckshot. It's everyone's job to keep you alive, didn't you know that?" she spits.

"Is that why you hate me?" I ask.

"Partly. It's more the tacky romance and the defender-of-the helpless bit, though. Like you are somehow better than the rest of us," she retorts.

"I think you would have made a better Mockingjay. No one has to tell you what to say," I mutter.

"Yeah, except that nobody likes me," she counters, and I notice her eyes are getting heavy. The drugs work quick. There's a quick rap on the door and Gale leans in. I see Rory over his shoulder, hanging back in the hallway. I turn to ask Johanna if she wants anything, but she's lying on one of the beds succumbing to her trip. I close the door behind me so Rory doesn't see.

I try to walk to the dining hall, but Gale sends Rory ahead to get a wheelchair and I end up getting pushed most of the way. I watch Gale as he collects my meal and places the tray in front of me at the table. He gets his own and I sit opposite the two Hawthorne boys and pretend to eat. Mostly I push things around my plate.

"You okay, Katniss?" Gale asks observantly.

"Yeah, I think it's the meds I'm on. I'm not hungry," I lie. We meet eyes, but I break away and stare back down at my plate.

"Katniss!" Prim exclaims as she approaches the table. She's bubbling in optimism. Only Prim could look pretty in these standard gray uniforms, but her rosy cheeks blush as she sits beside me. "I just went to check on you and they told me you'd already been discharged."

"Hey Prim," Rory says, and her already ruddy cheeks flush red. I catch Gale smirk at me through the corner of my eye.

"Oh hey," Prim replies, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

"Katniss, about time we headed up to Command," Gale offers, and I give him a bewildered look before I catch on.

"Oh!" I say, lacking any subtlety at all. "Yeah. We have Command. We have to go." I'm grinning widely now, and Prim shoots me the first scowl I think I've ever seen her muster. Gale pulls me from the table and wheels us out of the room.

"You didn't even finish eating," I nag, smirking wickedly.

"You didn't even start," he retorts.

"How long has that been going on?" I ask.

"Started sometime while we were gone," Gale replies. I laugh and immediately drop my hand to my stomach as pain shoots up my side. Gale stops the wheelchair and squats in front of me. He places his palm on my cheek and strokes my face as the pain subsides. "You've got to stop running face first into trouble," he chides softly.

"I know. Someone blew up a mountain," I answer.

Instead of pulling back, he leans closer. "You think I'm heartless."

"You're not heartless. It's coming from the right place, Gale. It's just… overkill." My words hang between us. A true hunter has a respect for life. We kill, yes, but we kill to sustain ourselves. We only kill what we need to. I remember Thom asking Gale and I to hunt a fisher after it decimated his pen of chickens. I saw the coop. A fisher might need one bird to eat, but it slaughtered the flock. We had to put down two hens that were suffering, mutilated and bloodied. There is a difference.

He stands up. "Those planes we shot down in Eight, those came from Two. What is the difference, really? Shooting them down while they attack us or crushing them in a mine before they have a chance to? Less lives lost. That's it," he justifies. I scoff at him. "You are telling me you wouldn't trade the lives of those in the hospital for those in the mine? By taking out the Nut, we are preventing more attacks."

"With that line of reasoning, you could justify just about anything. You could justify sending children into the Hunger Games to prevent the districts from getting out of line," I respond.

"I don't buy that," Gale replies.

"Well, I've had a couple more Arenas more than you," I answer.

"God, Katniss, that's what it always boils down to. I'm not good enough because I'm not a victor. I'm not Finnick, I'm not Peeta, I'm not Haymitch. I wanted to volunteer when your name was called. You know that. Instead I kept a promise to you, and now I feel like I'll pay for that the rest of my life," Gale answers.

"That's not fair," I stand from my chair, but I'm dizzy and Gale has to steady me with his hands on my back.

"I don't think it's fair either," he says to my face, but his tone is softer. "Look, we just disagree. But we took Two. Your speech worked. The skirmish in the square was over before it even began. You changed their minds, Katniss. You got through to them. Now all the districts are together. We're all looking at the same enemy now."

"Snow," I say with bitterness. Gale eases me back into my seat and wheels me the rest of the way in silence.

We watch the propo. It's beautiful. Horrific, but beautiful. Cressida gives Two its dignity. For a brief moment, she captures the burial in the woods. The sun was setting, the figures are black. My bow makes me clearly recognizable though. It shows me lower my head to the fallen. It shows that we cherish life. That there is a difference between us and the Capitol. She ends with my call to arms, and it cuts away before I'm shot. The room is silent. We understand the potential of the message.

"Air it tonight," Coin says, and we're dismissed.

That night in my room, I stare at the ceiling while Johanna snores in the bed next to me. I close my eyes and play the propo again in my mind, but my focus drifts. I stare at the door. I'm not going to survive this war. If what I learned in 2 taught me anything, it's that I'm a target. I knew that, in my brain I knew that, but as my fingers run gingerly over the wound in my side, it's a more material concept now. I won't survive the siege of the Capitol. It's coming.

My feet wander the hallway and I find myself outside Peeta's room. It's the woman guard. She just nods her head in acknowledgement, and I press my back to the gray wall and sit, staring at his door.

"Is he sleeping?" I ask.

"No," she responds. "He doesn't do that, really," she adds.

I wait for morning.


	19. Chapter 19 - Exposure Therapy

"I don't think it's a good idea," I answer. I sit on my hands to hide my trembling fingers. "He's made so much progress, especially with Prim's reverse hijacking treatment."

"That's only a temporary treatment protocol," one of Peeta's doctors asserts. "We risk him acquiring a morphling dependency, which is not a desirable condition for someone who already has a questionable grip on reality."

In my mind I see Johanna, bobbing in and out alone in our room, a serene smile on her face. She's gotten worse. I hardly ever see her sober. Clearly I'm not her only source of morphling. I shake the thought from my head. One problem at a time.

"Mr. Mellark has made some progress with memory recovery. His temper seems to be within his control, but we have no idea how he would react to a new trigger, or being retriggered with a known phrase," the man says. He pushes a pair of glasses up his nose. They are ill-fitting and slip back down his face.

"We want to expose him to the triggers we already know, with Soldier Everdeen present," another doctor professes. Interesting how I'm Soldier Everdeen, but Peeta is Mister Mellark. Even in semantics they emphasize that he isn't one of them. I look around the table to see how the other meeting participants react. Boggs sits stoically in the corner, listening. Coin's face is nonreactive. Haymitch rocks in his seat slightly. Beetee looks perplexed as he contemplates the proposal. The half dozen doctors all nod in agreement.

"What good will that do?" I ask.

"We want to see how he reacts to a retrigger with the active stimulus of Soldier Everdeen's presence," he tells Coin, not even directing the response to me even though I asked the question. Not like that was an answer.

"You want to see? Do you even have a plan, or is this just blind curiosity?" I counter.

"We'll obviously have a strategy in place to subdue Peeta should your safety be threatened in any way," Coin replies.

"That's not what I meant," I spit.

"What about the kid's safety?" Haymitch asks.

"We are concerned for Peeta's safety. We wouldn't be wasting these resources on his recovery if we weren't invested in the results," Coin replies.

"There is science behind the experiment," another doctor explains. "Exposure therapy. The idea is if we expose him to the trigger, eventually he will become numb to it."

Bile boils in my stomach. "And you think that will work?" I ask.

"It's the best proposal on the table," Coin replies. She turns to the board of doctors. "You may start tonight. Soldier Everdeen, please report to the printing station for a revised schedule."

"I want to be there," Haymitch adds. I look at him. He's my only ally in this room.

"Fine," Coin replies, and we're dismissed from the meeting. The door to Command closes and Haymitch and I stare at each other in the hallway.

"Do you think this will work?" I ask.

"I have no idea," he replies. "At least they're trying."

I try to tell myself that's a good thing.

"How's Effie?" I ask. I've seen very little of Effie Trinket since her rescue. It's of her own choosing. She doesn't leave her compartment. She doesn't accept guests. I think she feels ashamed.

"She's getting by. I almost got her to go down for dinner yesterday, but she only made it a few feet down the hall before she ran back to her room," Haymitch says.

I think about those we rescued from the Capitol. Effie, who has turned herself into a recluse. Johanna, who can't survive a minute of her sober mind. Peeta, who rambles and doesn't know who he is. It's ironic that only Annie, who is probably the least stable of all of them, seems to have adjusted to life outside the prison. She was released from the sick ward a few days ago, but she's still feeling pretty rundown. Her smile is back, though - the kindness that radiates from her. The warmth.

Haymitch and I sit in the dining hall and pick at our food. He's lost a lot of weight since he quit drinking. He'd look younger if it weren't for the worry lines that stretch across his face, telling the story of years of abuse. We waste time until we can't anymore, and walk begrudgingly to the hospital ward. A group of nurses bring us to a private room in the back. We sit and wait until one of the doctors rushes in. It's the thin man with the glasses that dwarf his face.

"We've had to make a few minor adjustments. The exposure therapy session will be held in the prison ward," he informs us.

"What?" I burst out, rushing myself to my feet. Haymitch puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Is that such a good idea, Doc? Won't that set the kid back?" Haymitch asks.

"It's the only place that can accommodate the necessary level of precautionary restraints," the doctor replies with a matter-of-fact tone.

"I don't like this," I whisper to Haymitch. He nods and we follow the man out of the room. We take the elevator down to the belly of the district, and with each floor my stomach twists and knots. By the time we reach the brig, my palms are sweating and I have to wipe them on my pants.

"This way," the doctor instructs, and we follow him down a narrow, white hallway. I wonder if there are people behind the doors. I swallow the rock in my throat. They open a red door with a gold-plated number on the outside. I try to read the numbers but my mind is racing too fast and the digits swirl together like contrasting paints on one of Peeta's pallets.

In the center of the tiled room is a shiny, stainless steel table. It's long and rectangular. There are two chairs opposite each other, and one at the far end of the table, awkwardly out of reach from the other two.

"Sit here, please, Soldier Everdeen," one of the doctors indicates, and they all file out of the room save one, who takes a seat at the far end of the table. He's short, with a receding hairline and demure features. There's a short knock on the door and Peeta is lead in by faceless guards that I don't recognize. I wonder where Xander is, but I don't find him among the faces of Peeta's escort. Peeta looks terrified. His wrists and ankles are shackled together. They have him sit in the chair across from me, and one of the guards takes the chain and shackles it to a metal ring on the floor.

"Is this really necessary?" I ask.

"We'll find out," the doctor at the end of the table answers, before turning on a recording device. He states his name, the date and time, and labels our session _Round One._ The guard detail remains on the back wall.

"Mister Mellark, please state your name and district of origin for the record," the doctor orders. Peeta's eyes don't leave mine.

"Peeta Mellark. I'm from District 12," he answers, his voice low. "Did I do something wrong?" he asks, and the vulnerability in his voice makes my chest throb.

"No," I say, reaching my hand across the table.

"Please do not touch the subject," the doctor scolds. He directs himself to Peeta. "In order for you to rejoin society, we need to desensitize you to the identified trigger words so you either are no longer reactive or have control over your responses. The purpose of today's session is to work through those trigger words by repeated exposure until we achieve the desired response or until the experiment can no longer continue," he explains.

"Experiment or treatment?" Peeta asks quietly. His eyes cloud with disillusionment. He's not safe here. He'll never be safe.

"Treatment, of course," the doctor replies.

"Katniss should go," Peeta says, his cobalt eyes still locked with mine.

"It is necessary to expose you to the source of your torment after you've been triggered to ensure it's no longer threatened," the doctor says clinically. The way he calls me _it_ reminds me of how Peeta first talked about me after the hijacking. It. Mutt. Thing. As I stare at the doctor, I wonder who the real monster in the room is.

"Are all participants ready?" he asks. Peeta waits for me. He's not doing this if I don't want to.

"I'm ready," I say quietly. Peeta nods.

"I need a verbal response for the recording," the doctor insists.

"Ready," Peeta says, and he holds his breath. He pulls at his restraints, testing their reinforcement. Satisfied he's confined, he closes his eyes. He nods again.

"Alright, Mr. Mellark," he starts, but Peeta cuts him off.

"Wait," he says urgently, and looks at the doctor. "Can you… Can you stop calling me that? It makes me think of my dad, and… I just… I have to try not to think about my dad right now."

"Okay, Peeta," the doctor acquiesces, and then scribbles something in his notebook. "Let's begin."

Peeta looks across the table at me and mouths, "I'm sorry." I know I'm about to lose him.

"Mockingjay," the doctor articulates, and Peeta immediately clenches his entire body. His eyes roll back into his head, and he makes a sound like he's drowning in dry air. Like his lungs are boiling. He drops his head onto the table. He turns his face to me.

"Katniss," he manages, before squeezing his eyes closed tight.

"Mockingjay," the doctors says, and Peeta shakes and holds his fists tight until his knuckles turn white. He groans and digs his fingers into the table. He's fighting back. He's trying to stay here. "Mockingjay."

"Peeta," I breathe, and reach across the table at him, but the boy with the bread is gone. He screams, and it's primal, it's vicious, it rings off the tile. He pushes himself to his feet and lunges for me, but the shackles pull back and the bones and skin of his wrists pull and strain against the metal. I leap from my chair and press myself against the wall, but at the pain, Peeta's eyes clear for a moment. He pulls at the cuffs again, only this time he's not trying to escape. He's focusing on the pain. He's focusing on something real, something that can anchor him to reality. Something that will pull his attention from me.

"Mockingjay," the doctor says again, as if he's trying to make him break. Peeta seizes. Tears flush down his face and he slams his wrists into the cuffs, the skin underneath growing raw.

"Mockingjay," he repeats, and Peeta bites his tongue.

"Stop it! Stop it!" I scream, but at my voice Peeta loses his focus. He pulls away from me, rocking his body toward the opposite wall until the sound of metal grating on metal consumes the room as the chain runs against the ring.

"Mockingjay," the doctor repeats, and Peeta's pupils explode, filling his irises until there is no blue left. He pulls against the ring, and the cement floor begins to crack. The doctor's eyes open wide. "Tranquilize him!" He screams to the guards, and one raises a gun. At the perceived threat, Peeta heaves at the floor and a chunk of cement breaks free. He swings it over his head by the chain and it smashes into the guard, hurling him back against the wall. The other guards lunge for him, but Peeta throws them away as if they weigh nothing. He turns to the doctor, blood dripping down his hands. He pulls against the cuffs, closing his eyes and knotting his forehead in pain. He focuses on his wrists and tries to breathe.

The doctor is silent now, fearing for his own life. Peeta trembles in place, grating his wrists against the cuffs. I walk forward slowly. His eyes dart to me. I step closer, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

"Katniss," I hear Haymitch in the overhead speaker. "Katniss, stop!"

I stand in front of Peeta and I feel the violent energy emanating from him. I reach for his hands and slide them on my face. He exhales, and a tear drops down his cheek.

"Say it again," I tell the doctor, not moving my eyes from Peeta. He shakes his head. "Say it again!" I order.

Peeta's fingers move across my jaw. He runs his thumb across my cheekbone.

"Mockingjay," the doctor responds, and Peeta opens his eyes and meets mine. His gaze drops to my lips, tracing them.

"You don't have to look at me if you don't want to," I whisper.

"I want to," he breathes. I step forward again until his body is a breath of air from mine.

"Mockingjay," the doctor says again, and Peeta's head drops to my shoulder. I try to hold him up, but he's heavy and we both end up on our knees. I wrap my arms around him and scratch his back. He closes his eyes and breathes into my neck.

"Can you say it, Peeta?" I ask. He nods, but he's quiet. "Come on," I whisper. "You can do this." _Come to me._

"Mockingjay," Peeta says. He lifts his head and his eyes meet mine. All I see is blue.


	20. Chapter 20 - You Matter to Me

The following day they trigger Peeta with 'Snow.' He grits his teeth and suffers a debilitating migraine that leaves him in his room with the lights off for the rest of the day. Nothing the doctors give him touches the pain. I sit outside his door for hours. Xander and I talk about nothing.

I'm called into a meeting in Command, but I procrastinate until I make myself late. Already seated around the table are the usual players – Plutarch, Fulvia, Boggs, some other military strategists. Haymitch. Gale. I find an empty seat and stare at the drawings on the board.

"We need to weaken the Capitol before any siege can be attempted," one of the military commanders says gruffly. They are clearly having a disagreement. "We've taken the districts but to date the Capitol itself remains a fortress. We need to talk about a strategic campaign to disable their defenses before an invasion can be attempted."

"We've tapped our resources inside the Capitol. We have no more spies. Everyone who sympathizes with the rebellion is either already on an active mission or dead," Coin retorts. Or sitting here out of harm's way, I think, glaring at Plutarch.

I listen to them go back and forth. I'm eager to fight, but facing the full force of the Capitol is foolhardy. They can't seriously think we can take them out by sheer manpower alone.

"We need to do something," I state. Everyone turns to me. I'm usually silent in these meetings.

"And what would you suggest?" Coin quips back.

"The Avoxes," I say quietly.

"What?" she asks.

"The Avoxes," I state more clearly. "They are everywhere in the Capitol. They live in the homes of political and military leaders. They run the infrastructure. They serve food and drinks in vital meetings. You've basically got an army of mute assassins already planted in the Capitol. People who've been personally maimed and brutalized by their captors. Slaves. You just need to figure out how to talk to them." I look around the room and see heads slowly start to nod. I think of the redheaded girl. I think of Darius. I think of the Avoxes prominently positioned behind Snow when he gives his televised addresses. They are there as a message to those who think about defying him, but they are also living in his home. They know when he eats. They know when he sleeps. And they have a reason to want revenge.

"We should at least talk to Beetee," Gale offers, and Coin nods, her face still digesting what I've said.

"The girl is right. The Avoxes are present when the Capitol is most vulnerable. If you want to weaken them from the inside, that's your way in," Haymitch adds.

"We'll consider it. In the meantime, combat training needs to ramp up for those participating in the siege. I want schedules updated by the morning," Coin orders. She asks everyone to leave save the military advisors. Plutarch seems a bit flustered that he's been dismissed, and in the hallway he tries to play it down.

"Fulvia and I have an important meeting to discuss the airtime strategy downstairs," he states with a flourish, and the two head speedily down the hallway.

"I'm going to go check on Effie," Haymitch grumbles, and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Smart thinking in there, sweetheart."

"Can I come with you?" I ask. I have been asking repeatedly to see Effie.

"Not today," he says. "She had a bad morning." I nod. Haymitch walks down the hall, his shoulders tired. Gale checks his arm.

"Training. You want to go hunt?" he asks.

"Yeah. Let's go get Finnick, though. I think he could use some air," I reply. Gale agrees begrudgingly and we head upstairs. I pound my fist on Finnick's door and he pops his head out, flushed. He grins widely.

"Hey Kat," he smiles.

"Put on some pants. We're hunting," I deadpan.

"Why?" he asks, stepping into the hallway in only his underwear. "Do you think I'll make the deer blush?"

"Finnick!" I hear Annie laugh from behind the door. He ducks back inside and closes the door slightly, although it's still ajar a couple inches. I hear Annie's voice, hushed, "Go with them!" A few moments later Finnick is shoved into the hallway, tucking in his shirt.

"Gale!" he exclaims, and wraps an elbow around Gale's neck.

"Where are you supposed to be right now?" Gale asks.

Finnick pulls his forearm forward, cinching Gale's head in tight. "Umm, looks like I have a meeting with Beetee in Special Weaponry."

"Shouldn't you maybe go there?" Gale replies.

"And miss spending quality time with you?" Finnick bats his eyes.

"Don't any of you follow your schedule?" Gale retorts in a huff. I smirk. It's true, literally none of the victors do what we are told. We're just as much of a pain to 13 as we were to the Capitol.

Out in the woods, though, the tension subsides. We all let the air cool our minds, like fog off the lake after a rain. The wind is frigid, piercing my clothes and biting my skin. We move silently, our breathing tempered, even and in tune. My ribs are barely mended and they ache as a stretch my arm back for an arrow, but in a way it feels good. It reminds me I'm alive out here, like the insects burrowed below my feet and the mockingjays darting in the sky. I take down a buck and Gale snares a couple rabbits. We clean the game in the woods and head back inside.

"Dinner?" Gale asks.

"In a few," I answer. Finnick heads back to his room while Gale and I drop the game at the kitchen. Gale walks me to my room. When I open the door, though, I find Johanna shaking and rocking on the floor. Gale looks over my shoulder, but I close the door quickly. This doesn't need to be seen.

I stare at Johanna. I don't know what to say to her. Instead I just lie on my stomach across from her. She opens her eyes and meets mine.

"Leave me alone," she spits callously, shivering and clenching her fists. I don't move. I just look back at her. We're silent for a minute. "Why are you here? I'm not lover boy. I don't need you to fix me." I lie still. She's trying to push me away, but I refuse. "It doesn't matter what happens to me. I'm not anyone's sister, or lover, or friend. Just let me sink into this floor and leave me alone. It doesn't matter."

"You matter," I answer, and she scoffs. "You matter to me."

Johanna's eyes lock on mine. Her body trembles around her, but her eyes remain fixed. Her irises are speckled tiny green flecks that drown as they well with tears. She swallows hard and I see her throat resist. I reach out my hand and take one of hers, and she squeezes it so hard I feel like my bones might break.

"I didn't take anything today," she manages, shivering and clenching her free hand into a fist.

"That's good," I say.

"It doesn't feel good," she bites back, pressing her palm into the ground. She breathes through her teeth. "I smell," Johanna mumbles, and I smile at her, my face only inches from hers.

"You really do," I whisper, and she starts to laugh a little.

"I need a shower," she says, but her voice loses the brief levity of moment's ago.

"Okay, let's do that," I answer.

"I can't," she sputters. I remember finding Johanna in her cell, her skin hanging from her body. How long had she been in that water? She had open sores all over her legs, each festering in infection. A knock on the door pulls me back to the present and forces my eyes upward. We ignore it, but I know I didn't latch the door and it pushes open slightly.

"Hey ladies, dinner?" Finnick asks, popping his head in the door. When he sees us on the ground he steps inside. "Is this what we're doing?" he asks, and drops to the floor next to Johanna, sandwiching her between us. I look up and see Annie watching through the crack, but she falls back into the hallway.

Finnick lays his hand on Johanna's back and his eyes meet mine. We stay this way for a while, not saying anything. Johanna shakes and tremors and squirms and writhes. We occasionally whisper words of encouragement, but mostly we're just there. I hear the door creak and find Haymitch.

"Annie said…" He takes in the scene. "Okay then," he says, and takes off his shoes before laying on his back, his head next to Johanna's, his body out the opposite direction. Haymitch has been here. Personally. He knows what these next hours will be like for her. He locks his jaw and stares ahead, present. Here. Johanna sweats through her gray clothes and shivers.

When Annie shows up at the door again, she looks at me questioningly. "I, um," she gets out, and Peeta appears at her shoulder.

"I can go if you want," he says, but I just move over. He drops to his knees and lowers himself to the floor. He finds Johanna's free hand and links his fingers with hers. It looks familiar. They know each other's hands. I realize they probably touched through the bars of their cells. He looks at Johanna and her eyes peer back, tired and yellow. He brings his free hand to her face and runs his thumb over her cheekbone. Annie ducks inside, and I see the female guard in the hallway. She keeps the door slightly ajar, her eyes on Peeta. So she has a heart after all.

Annie settles at Johanna's feet. We stay this way for hours. Eventually Johanna gets ill, and we take turns with her in the bathroom. When she's heaved until she's empty and sore, Finnick carries her tiny frame out and places her in bed. We all sit wordlessly along the walls.

 _You matter to me. You matter to me. You matter to me._

My eyes survey the room of broken yet resilient people. Each of us still a little lost. Each of us only sort of found. Half put together, half fallen apart. Peeta sits to my left, and his shoulder brushes mine as we sit with our backs pressed to the gray wall. I try not to notice, but it makes my heart slam in my chest.

When I hear a soft rap at the door, I'm not surprised to find Gale.

"I, um, I know I'm not a victor, but–"

I move over and he sits on my other side.

"She matters to you," I say.

He nods, his eyes on Johanna, and she hears his words. "Yeah, she matters to me." Finally, after hours and hours, Johanna drifts off to sleep.

 **A/N: Hey guys, I apologize for the slow updates this week. My life has gotten a wee bit busy, but things should slow down soon!**


	21. Chapter 21 - Visitors

Training for the siege is exhausting. It reminds me of Peeta's pre-Quell regiment, but with more weapons. In the morning we have physical training – hand-to-hand combat, sprints, weight lifting, rope climbing. At lunch we can barely lift our utensils to our mouths. The afternoon is strategy sessions, survival techniques, urban warfare, weapons training. After dinner we run in the field house. When we are finally dismissed, we don't socialize or talk at all really. We each retreat to our rooms, lie on the floor of the hot shower, and wait for our muscles to stop burning.

Our class has about twenty people in it, mostly residents of 13. Aside from the victors and Gale, there are two refugees from 12 and one from 10. Annie does not attend. I'm surprised when Haymitch signs up for training. He's normally more strategic-minded, but my mentor is worried he'll lose communication with us on the field, and if he intends on going with us, he can't slow us down. Finnick excels. Gale is determined and often stays late, talking with the instructors and studying material in advance of the next class. I feel my body grow stronger, but I'm distracted. I stare at the door – waiting for Johanna, waiting for Peeta.

Gale moves out of the Hawthorne compartment and into his own. He can't live with Hazelle's constant fretting. She doesn't want to send her oldest son to war. Rory wants to live with Gale, but leadership won't approve his transfer. Gale moves into an empty compartment down the hall from Finnick and me. I spend most my nights in the hospital, sleeping in the hallway outside Peeta's room. When I do stay with Johanna, I lie awake waiting for morning. She doesn't need to hear me scream.

Late one night the door to my room creaks open. I'm immediately on alert, but I see a familiar figure cross the floor. I pretend I'm asleep, and Gale sits on the ground next to Johanna's bed. He keeps his voice low. I don't know what he's doing here.

"I thought you might change your mind," Gale whispers.

"No," Johanna breathes.

"You ready?" he asks. _Ready for what?_

"No," she repeats, and I can feel him smirk. I know my best friend. I squint and watch them. She's lying on her side in bed, facing him. Her hands are white, her knuckles straining as she clenches her sheets with an iron first. She looks tiny. I realize how skinny she's gotten. She was thin anyway from captivity, but what weight she gained in the hospital has been shed and then some.

"Come on, Jo," he says softly. She shakes her head. Gale just waits, and eventually Johanna pushes herself up, sitting in bed. "You can scream and hit me and do whatever you have to, okay?" She nods her head.

They get up and walk into the bathroom. As the door closes, I see Johanna stare at the shower stall the way a child peers under their bed at night, unsure of what demons lurk in the dark. The door clicks shut and I hear the shower turn on.

Gale's voice stays low, murmuring to her. It lasts two minutes, maybe less. Johanna comes out and Gale runs a towel over her head.

"Feel better?" he asks.

"Sort of," she whispers, sitting back on her bed. He sits next to her.

"Will I see you in training tomorrow?" Gale says, keeping his voice hushed.

"Maybe," Johanna replies, and he squeezes her hand before sneaking out of the room. Johanna gets out of bed and locks the door behind him. "I know you're awake," she says, her back still to me.

"I'm proud of you," I answer, and we go back to bed without saying anything more.

When I see Johanna in the dining hall at breakfast, she and Gale act like nothing happened. Annie smiles at her the whole time, and Johanna steals Annie's juice before she winks at Finnick. She manages to eat her entire bowl of oatmeal, which is more food than I've seen her consume since her rescue. She walks us to training but mostly observes. The next day she runs a bit. After that she throws herself in full bore. She's weak and slow, but she forces herself through every grueling task.

One evening, Gale and I continue circling the track after the field house run is dismissed. Finnick retired long ago and Haymitch will only run as long as he is forced. He isn't volunteering for extra laps. Johanna hasn't had the stamina for the night runs yet, but she normally will walk the course a few times. Gale and I circle the field again and again, long after our classmates disappear.

"You were in my room the other night," I say between breaths. He keeps his eyes forward. "So, Johanna…" I start, and he stops running and heads off the track. I slow my pace and turn around. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by it," I call at his back, but he walks toward the exit. "Gale!" I jog to catch up to him.

"She gets under my skin," he states as he walks, eyes forward.

"Isn't that a bad thing?" I ask.

"Not when she does it," he says, and I feel the corner of my mouth lift. "Just… don't say anything to her, okay?"

"Don't say what? That she gets under your skin?" I retort, and he looks down at me.

"Come on, Catnip," he says, and for a second he looks like a boy. Like the young boy who found me in the woods.

"I won't say anything," I reply.

"Then stop smiling at me," he scowls.

"I'm not smiling!" I respond, but I can feel the grin widening across my face. It's contagious, and his mouth mirrors mine.

"Stop!" he teases and shoves my arm with a snicker. We laugh and as we come around the corner on our floor, but the smile drops from my face as I see a figure sitting on the floor outside of Gale's door. Our laughter rings in the corridor like an unwelcome phantom. It's like the oxygen has left the room.

"Peeta," I breathe. He's alone. When he sees us he stands up straight. A bag sits at his feet. He brushes off his pants. We walk down the hall, and he lingers outside Gale's door.

"What are you doing here?" I ask. He's wearing the standard gray uniform. A schedule printed in purple ink stains his forearm. There is no medical bracelet on his wrist. There is no guard.

"I was released," he says awkwardly. I don't know what to do with my body. My hands reach for his face but I quickly drop them to my sides. I shouldn't make assumptions about things. He shifts on his feet and looks at his arm. "My schedule says I'm in Compartment 476, but it wasn't vacant and I panicked, so I just thought I'd wait here until someone showed up."

"It's my room," Gale speaks up. They've assigned them together. I guess Coin is one for irony.

"Oh," Peeta answers, and Gale shifts his body protectively between Peeta and me.

"It's fine," Gale says, but I know what he's thinking. If Peeta is out, he wants to keep an eye on him. Gale opens the door to his compartment.

I'm amazed Peeta realized someone lived here. Peeta is tidy, but homey. Gale's room, however, feels nearly barren. The only thing giving him away is the toothbrush and towel hanging in the bathroom, each in their precise places. Peeta looks at the two beds.

"Do you, uh, do you care which one I use?" he asks. Gale gestures to the right and Peeta sets his bag down. He immediately puts his things in the set of drawers next to the bed. He catches me smirking. "What?" he asks innocently and I realize he thinks I'm being mean-spirited.

"You just… You used to do that on Tour, too. You'd unpack immediately, no matter where we were. And then you'd tease me because I lived out of my bag and left my dresses on the floor," I answer.

"Oh," he says, but it's clear he doesn't remember. He folds a couple spare gray uniforms and puts them in the top drawer. Peeta pulls out some sketchpads and pencils and places them in the bottom drawer, along with a small box. I wonder what's inside. I don't ask.

"I guess I should let you get settled in," I say. "Night." I nod at Gale and step into the hallway. I walk the twenty feet to my room and lean my forehead against the cold door and breathe.

"Katniss?" I hear, and look over to see Peeta standing outside his door. I lift my head up as he walks toward me. His pace quickens the closer he gets, and when he reaches me he pulls me into his chest and holds me tight. I wrap my arms around his waist and we stand there hugging in the hallway for what seems like forever and but feels like not long enough. He slowly releases me. "Good night," he whispers, and smiles shyly before he turns and walks back to his room.

"Night," I whisper.


	22. Chapter 22 - Of Value

"Come on, you have another one in you!" the instructor screams as I pull myself up until my chin passes the bar. My arms are quivering as my muscles beg me to stop. "One more!" he yells, and I bellow out a groan as I strain to pull myself up again. "Okay, that's enough," he concedes, and I drop from the bar like dead weight on the floor. I struggle to catch my breath, heaving and panting on my knees.

"Alright, everyone circle up!" another instructor yells. I stand next to one of the Leeg sisters. They aren't twins, but they are so similar looking in their standard gray uniforms that I can't tell them apart. They're a little older than Johanna and excel in all the military drills. They were raised this way. This is what they know. "You're dismissed for lunch. We expect to see you at the firing range in Special Weaponry in ninety minutes. Those that are tardy will be locked out. We'll be training this afternoon with the C squad."

There are a dozen or so other classes, called squads, that are holding training concurrent to our own. These elite forces from 13 will be expected to lead the rebels from the districts into the Capitol. Most have had multiple deployments to the districts and are experienced in live combat. For a while at least, there was some resentment toward them from the rebel forces. These G.I.s would come in to fight but then got to retreat back to the safety of 13. It was frustrating to those whose children slept in shelling zones. After the bombing campaign on 13, though, the sentiment seems to have faded. No one is safe. Nowhere is safe. We all know that now.

We file into the dining hall. All of our food allowances have been increased since training began, and Johanna's stipend is even more generous as she tries to reach a healthy weight. On each of our trays sits a sugar cookie. I hold it in my fingers. _They don't make confections here_ , I think, and then my heart begins to thump loudly in my chest. I wonder if Finnick can hear it, sitting as close to me as he is. Peeta is in the kitchen.

Peeta has pretty much quarantined himself to his room. He's uncomfortable with his release. He's been desensitized to the existing triggers, yes, but we still don't know what will happen if he hears a new one. He's decided the safest bet is to lock himself away, isolate himself from anyone he might hurt. He's twenty feet away, but I feel more distant from him now than ever.

"I'll be right back," I say, and stand up from the table.

"Don't be late or you'll get locked out," Gale calls out, and I scowl at him.

They know me in the kitchen. I drop off game, or at least I did until the training really picked up. A few of the cooks nod as I walk past them. I find Peeta in the back. He's turned away from me, back to, working a piece of dough on a steel counter. At home he'd insist on wood. Metal isn't right for bread, he'd say. Wood catches the flour. I watch as the muscles flex and ease as he manipulates the dough, turning it over and over. "Peeta?" He doesn't react, and I step forward and touch his shoulder lightly. "Peeta?"

He startles a little, then turns around and looks at me. He starts to smile, but tries to reel it in. Since our embrace in the hallway, we've been awkward. Neither of us know what we're doing, and Peeta is keeping me at a distance, afraid he will hurt me.

"Hey," he says softly, wiping his floury hands on his apron. He reaches his hands up and pulls a couple of pieces of cotton from his ears. "What are you doing back here?"

"Did you make cookies for the soldiers?" I ask.

"Oh, yeah I did. Did you like it?" he responds politely.

"I don't know. I was going to save mine for Prim," I answer.

"Prim likes sugar cookies," Peeta says.

"Is that a question?" I ask, and he shakes his head.

"No, I just remembered. She likes sugar cookies," he replies. His eyes go distant, just a little, and I lose him for a minute. "With frosting," he adds. He's lost bits of her as he blocked bits of me.

"What's with the cotton?" I ask.

"Oh, well… I just figured, if I can't hear anyone speaking, then I won't hear a trigger," he says, staring at the floor, and I realize something. He's lonely. He's not just broken or frustrated. His whole family is dead, he's terrified to be around me, and he's forced himself into solitude. He just wants to be around people, even if he can't hear them. "I remember how to bake. It's really clear to me. They clearly couldn't touch that. It feels good to do something I know."

"You should come eat with us," I offer.

"I couldn't. There's a lot of people out there. A lot of conversation. A lot of words. I think I'm better off back here," he answers. He fidgets with his apron. I'm making him uncomfortable. I shouldn't have come here. This is his safe space.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to push." I step away from him and start to walk away. "Peeta?" I ask, pausing.

"Yeah?"

"I miss you," I murmur.

"I miss you, too," he replies, then turns back to the counter. He puts his hands on the steel and lets it pull the heat from him. I walk out of the kitchen.

That night I stay late at the field house, running in circles until my legs give out. I lie on the field, the fake grass prickling through my shirt and irritating my skin. Real grass gives. Real grass breathes. Yesterday the Capitol bombed a district safe hold in 3. They are particularly cruel to District 3, and have been since the Dark Days. Retribution is not a single action, but a grinding of spirit over years and years. The bombs set fire to a warehouse used to house refugees. We lost nearly a thousand people, mostly those fleeing the fight – parents and children, the elderly, the disabled.

Our response is taking too long. We should have stormed the Capitol already. Get them on the defensive, not just wait for them to attack our districts while we devise a plan. It's been weeks since we left 2. I tug at the grass with my fingers until it gives and I chuck it into the air in frustration.

I push myself to my feet and walk upstairs. I don't even realize it's storming until I walk into my room and find Johanna curled in the far corner of the compartment. The rain pelts against the window and she flinches. How long has she been paralyzed like this?

"Jo! Jo!" I shake her. She's practically catatonic. I push myself to my feet and cross the hall to Finnick's room. I raise my hand to knock on Finnick's door when I realize he has a window too. I walk back to my room and stare at Johanna as she trembles on the floor.

"Get up," I say gently, grabbing Johanna's hands. "You can't stay here." She nods and stands, but her eyes are glazed over. I wrap my arm around her shoulder and lead her out into the hallway. I walk to Gale's room and knock on the door to his compartment with a quick rap. I step back when Peeta answers.

"I need Gale," I say, and Peeta looks confused. Gale appears over his shoulder and takes one look and Johanna before pulling her from my arms and into his. He brings his eyes to meet mine. "It's raining," I state, and he nods and leads her into the room.

Peeta looks at me.

"Are they…?" he asks, stepping into the hallway. I shrug my shoulders.

"I don't know. I just know you don't have a window," I answer.

"Right," he says back.

"You're up late," I state and he evades my eyes.

"I don't really sleep," he replies. I look at his face. His eyes are sunken in, his skin pallid. He didn't sleep in the hospital either.

"Peeta," I breathe. My stomach knots and twists. "Come stay with me."

"I can't," he whispers. I expected this answer, but my chest aches anyway.

"Okay," I say, and turn back to my room.

"I want to," he bids quietly, and I stop. "I just can't."

I stare at my door. Neither of us moves. I turn back to Peeta slowly and step toward him.

"Katniss…" he starts, but I press my mouth to his and kiss him softly. It's the first kiss we've shared since the hijacking where we are both mentally present. That we are both fully aware of each other's lips, of who we are and what this means. He breathes into my mouth as his fingers slowly trace their way up my neck and bury themselves in my hair. He kisses me back, and he's alive and his mouth is burning hot and I just want to lose myself here.

"Come stay with me," I breathe when our lips part.

"I," he starts, and I know he's going to say no so I press my mouth to his again. I bury his refusal. He pulls away from me and looks at the floor. "I have to go back now." His hands slide out of my hair and a rock finds its way into my throat. He lifts his gaze and traces my face with his eyes, and when he sees my brow furrow he whispers, "I just want to remember this. I don't want to forget anything else."

Peeta goes back to his room, and I press my back against the wall and will my body to still.

The next morning, Peeta sits down with us for breakfast. We all try not to make a big deal out of it, but Annie kisses his cheek before taking her seat. Johanna sits next to Gale, her jaw locked. She's furious with herself for last night. She's furious that she's so weak. I tried to explain to her it's not weakness, but she dismissed me outright.

"What do I do if it rains when we are out there, huh? I can't keep _doing_ this. I need to figure this out!" she'd raged at me as we walked down to the dining hall.

I watch as Peeta slowly picks apart his toast, not making eye contact with anyone. He's here, though. He's trying.

"So, Annie and I have an announcement," Finnick states, cutting the tension around the table. Annie raises her left hand and tied around her finger is tiny rope with an intricate little knot. "We are getting married!" he blurts excitedly, and the table erupts in congratulatory words and clapping. We all stand and hug and smile. Finnick pulls me in tight to his chest and leans back, my feet leaving the ground.

"About time," I tease, and he grins widely.

Our jubilance is cut short when a soldier approaches the table to let us know we are needed in Command. Annie and Peeta remain seated when the man gestures to him. "You too, Soldier Mellark."

Peeta's eyes dart to mine. I shake my head. I have no idea what's going on. We walk the familiar path up to Command, and I realize it's not familiar to Peeta. I reach over to take his hand but he stiffens and I drop it.

"Have you met Coin?" I whisper. He shakes his head.

When we enter the room, Coin is seated at the table with Plutarch and Fulvia. Most of the military commanders we have seen present in recent meetings are absent today. We take our seats around the table.

"First, a warm welcome to Peeta as he attends his first Command meeting," Plutarch says, as if we are welcoming Peeta to a book club. No one knows what to say. Fulvia claps awkwardly.

"As you are aware, we are fast approaching the siege on the Capitol," he starts. No, we're not aware. We have no idea when the siege will occur. No one tells us anything anymore, but we all nod as if we are being kept in the loop. "Before you deploy, we'd like to do a propo featuring Katniss and Peeta, now that he's stable enough to participate."

"No," I spit out right away.

"May I remind you, part of the reason for Soldier Mellark's rescue was for his value in the propos," Coin adds. "It is vital that the rebellion sees he is alive and well in 13. That Snow can't take everything from us."

At the word Snow, Peeta flinches slightly. He digs his hands into his sides and lets out a breath.

"Are you okay?" I whisper. He nods.

"They're right. I'll do it," he concedes. Everyone but Peeta and me are dismissed, and I don't pay much attention as they talk details and logistics. I watch as Peeta buries his hands under the table, as he digs his nails into his palms until his skin gives. When the meeting breaks for lunch, I grab Peeta by the wrist and drag him into a bathroom, locking the door behind us.

"Katniss, I shouldn't be alone with you right now," he argues. I turn on the sink and run his hands under the water, watching the blood slip down the drain like smoke from a candle where the wick is too long. I take some white paper towels and blot them on his palms.

"Sit," I order, and he sits on the lid of the toilet while I dig a few adhesive bandages from the cupboard. I lean down and place them on his hands as his breathing shallows. "You should come to training," I say, not looking up at him. "We'll be deploying soon," I add, staring at his hands as I flatten the bandages against his skin. A beat of silence sits between us. "I can't do this without you."

"What if I hurt you?" he asks.

"Peeta," I breathe. "I'm not… We're not probably going to survive the siege. I just want you with me." His eyes flash. "It's the last arena. I need you."

"Okay," he says, and I finally feel like I can breathe.

Peeta stands and pushes some cotton in his ears before he opens the door and walks down the hall.


	23. Chapter 23 - Programmed

In morning training, it is evident Peeta's strength and speed have not waned, although his stamina was severely impacted by his time in captivity. He and Johanna have to take frequent breaks for air, although it doesn't take them too long to recover. Peeta breaks the record for rope climbing on his first day. At lunch Peeta stuffs cotton in his ears, but he eats with us.

Our afternoon training is in Special Weaponry. We are focusing on assembling and disassembling automatic weapons. We each stand in front of our own table, the parts of the weapon spread apart in no sensible order. I breathe out and try to remember our lesson from last week. Start with the upper receiver. Flick the barrel to make sure the slide is out, insert. Line up the lower receiver, push the pin back in. There's at least fifteen or twenty more steps that begin to blur.

"Go!" the instructor commands, and we each begin. The people from District 13 move swiftly. Gale, too, is promptly assembling his weapon. I can see the base coming to shape. When my eyes shift to Peeta, though, my hands still. I feel the rest of the class follow my gaze, jaws dropping. His hands move mechanically as he assembles the rifle. He doesn't even need to look at what he's doing.

"Check," Peeta says, and places the weapon on the table. Only then does he realize everyone is looking at him.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Gale asks. Peeta stares at the rifle on his table.

"I don't know," he replies.

"Did you know you could do that?" Finnick follows up.

"Not until I tried," Peeta answers. "Is it right?" he asks the instructor, who carefully inspects the weapon in his hands.

"It's right," the instructor answers. "Can you shoot?" she asks, gesturing with her eyes at a target at least fifty yards down the track. Peeta raises the rifle and lets off a shot. It slams the mannequin in the chest. We all stare at him. "Break it down," the instructor orders, pulling out her stopwatch. Peeta nods. "Go," she says, and his hands fly across the rifle, disassembling it as swiftly as he put it together.

"Check," he says again. The instructor reviews the pieces on the table. "Fifteen seconds," she says, her eyes bewildered.

"What else can you do?" one of the people from 13 asks.

"No fair, Snow didn't torture any super soldier knowledge into me," Johanna teases with a cackle. At _Snow_ , Peeta flinches and shoves his hands in his pockets. My eyes shift to Beetee, who observes all training in Special Weaponry.

"Is this part of the hijacking?" I ask quietly. Beetee looks perplexed, and shifts his glasses.

"It seems they may have trained him to be a highly effective assassin, most likely to ensure your execution," Beetee says, "Although it doesn't make sense they'd use tracker jacker venom for that. Do you remember any of this, Peeta?" Peeta shakes his head.

"When Peeta was being desensitized, he took down the entire crew of guards. Is that part of it?" Haymitch inquires.

"I don't know, I'd need to see it," Beetee answers. We move to the sparring ring and Peeta is asked to stand inside. He looks small. He looks worried.

"Mitchell," the instructor calls out, and Mitchell steps into the sparring ring. I don't know Mitchell well. He doesn't talk much. Aside from Haymitch, he and Homes are the oldest in our squad, likely in their late forties. They are both excellent marksmen. I'm not a fan of using firearms, but they both nod at my accuracy whenever we shoot. Mitchell has done well in the hand-to-hand sessions. While older than most of the squad and not as quick, he fights smart.

Mitchell attacks Peeta on his weak side, knowing he has a false limb. Peeta easily deflects the attack and hauls Mitchell over his body, slamming him into the mat. Most of the squad instinctually steps back. "Homes," the instructor calls, and Homes steps into the ring and is disabled quickly. "Leegs, both of you."

The sisters enter the ring from opposite sides. They are so in tune with one another they don't need to speak. One moves left, the other counters right. Peeta drops and sweeps his leg under the nearest, knocking her to the ground. He turns to face the other and they fight, each blocking and jabbing, their moves almost appear choreographed. Peeta notices her shoulder drop and counters, using her weight against her as he swings her body and drops her on top of her sister.

"Finnick!" the instructor offers, and Peeta withdraws.

"I don't want to do this," he says.

"Peet, it's okay," Finnick says. Finnick is easily the most skilled in our group at hand-to-hand combat, especially if he has a rope or any weapon. "It's just training, it's not real." He watches Peeta as he takes a deep breath. "We don't have to do this," Finnick offers, his eyes etched with concern. He can see Peeta is struggling.

"It's fine, let's just get this over with," Peeta answers, raising his hands. Finnick steps in the ring. The two circle each other. Finnick attempts an attack on Peeta's side, which he dodges gracefully. Finnick advances again, attempting to throw Peeta off balance, but Peeta spins around and slams his arm into Finnick's stomach. Finnick keels over for a second then straightens himself out. His eyes flash. He approaches Peeta with a barrage of attacks. Peeta blocks each one, but is pushed closer and closer to the edge of the circle. Finnick pulls back for what looks like the final blow, but when he swings his arm forward Peeta artfully dodges the attack, grabs Finnick's arm, and twists until Finnick's knees slam involuntarily to the ground.

Peeta steps back, chest heaving, and releases Finnick, who grabs his shoulder. It's probably sprained.

"I'm sorry," Peeta mumbles, withdrawing from the mat.

"It's fine," Finnick says, wincing a little as he stands but keeping his eyes locked with Peeta. "I'm fine, Peet." Peeta drops his hands to his sides and turns away from us, walking out of the room. I watch his back as he retreats.

"I, um, I have to go," I say, and turn to follow Peeta.

"Katniss!" Gale calls after me, but I ignore him. I catch up with Peeta in the hallway outside of Special Weaponry.

"Peeta!" I call out, but he doesn't slow down. He turns into a utility closet and slams the door behind him. "Peeta," I offer quietly through the door. He doesn't respond. I push the door open slowly and find him sitting on the floor, staring at the wall. He looks dead inside. I sit down in front of him, and he drops his eyes to his hands. "Peeta," I whisper, reaching for his hand, but he pulls back away from me.

"Don't call me that," he responds. "You're not the Mutt, Katniss. You never were. I am. Whatever you saved from the Capitol, it wasn't me."

"You didn't hurt anyone in there. It was just training, we spar all the time," I answer.

"I wasn't even trying," Peeta replies, and the implication sinks in. Without trying, he just disabled half our unit. Without any effort, he nearly pulled Finnick's arm from its socket. He's a weapon, and mercy help whoever he's pointed at. "I don't remember learning any of that," Peeta whispers. "What else did they program inside me? How will you ever be safe around me? You should go. You should leave right now."

I think about how we kissed last night. How his mouth moved with mine, like he knew me, like he remembered me. Like he was finally Peeta. But all he sees in himself now is a ticking time bomb.

"I miss Portia," he says, and buries his head in his knees. Portia is dead. She was executed on live television. I didn't watch. I observe Peeta as he slowly rocks himself back and forth. His mother is dead. Portia is dead. His whole family is dead. I push myself to my feet and leave the closet. I know where I'm going.

The sound of my boots echoes off the walls of the narrow hallway. My heart slams in my chest, partly from the exertion and partly from anticipation. When I reach compartment 719, I ball my hand up in a fist and pound on the door. There's no response.

"Effie Trinket, I need you. Open this door!" I yell, and the door creaks open just an inch. That's enough. I shove my way inside.

Her gray compartment looks the same as every other compartment. For a recluse she's neat as a pin. Every little thing is in place, and there are a lot of little things. Shiny pieces of foil folded into flowers. A paperclip bent to look like a star. Around her hair Effie's wrapped a spare piece of gray cloth, and she even has her face powdered. She sits demurely on her bed, her hands folded in her lap. Gone are the flighty, persnickety ways of my escort.

"How are you, Katniss?" she asks politely. I run my hands through my hair.

"It's not me, it's Peeta," I state. I know she must know he hasn't been well. I'm sure Haymitch tells her. He'd kill me if he knew I was in here. "Effie, he's lost everyone. He needs his family. He needs… not me."

Effie's face flickers as she processes what I've said. He needs his family. She is his family. Effie stands and looks in the mirror, adjusting her gray head wrap. She flattens her skirt and sighs a quick little breath. "Where is our boy?" I lead her downstairs to the corridor outside Special Weaponry. She earns stares along the way, as displaced Capitolites in 13 always do. She's panicked, and her hands flit at her side, but she persists forward. When I reach the closet door, I knock softly.

"Peeta?" I push the door open. I find him cross-legged on the ground, his hand moving back and forth across the floor. He holds a marker he found in the closet, and on the tile of the closet floor he draws a picture of a window.

"Ahem," Effie clears her throat, and Peeta looks up at her, wide-eyed. "You are a victor, Peeta Mellark, not a vandal. I certainly hope that's not permanent!" she chides, and Peeta pushes himself to his feet and throws his arms around her. I step out of the closet and walk down the hallway, find the elevator, and take myself up to the hospital ward. My mother is wearing a white medic uniform, leaning on a counter, filling out a chart. I walk up from behind her and wrap my arms around her waist.

"Hi, Mom," I breathe out, and she runs her hands over my bare forearms.

"Hey, Katniss," she says, squeezing me tight. "Are you okay?" I stay silent. I need my family, too.


	24. Chapter 24 - Kiss the Rain

Peeta still eats with us, but he puts cotton in his ears and doesn't listen. He doesn't attend training, but spends a good deal of time in the field house running. When we arrive for evening sprints he leaves and heads back to his room. This pattern repeats. I try to fall into the routine.

On the day I stick my arm under the scanner and my schedule prints Propo Filming on my skin, my stomach drops. I'm sure Peeta's reads the same. I'm dismissed from training and I count my steps as I walk to the sound stage. By the time I arrive Peeta is already there. My prep team is flitting about him, trying to get him ready. He sits stiffly, clearly uncomfortable. I take the empty seat next to him and Octavia begins filing my nails. As if a soldier would spend any time on her nails.

Venia mixes a palette of cremes and blots a highlight under my eyes. "You two need to sleep," she scolds lightly as she covers the dark bags under our eyes. I don't sleep much. Since Peeta's hijacking, my nightmares have become distorted, twisted pictures. Scenes of horror through the lens of tracker jacker venom. I force myself awake. I sleep for short spurts of twenty or thirty minutes at a time. According to Gale, Peeta doesn't sleep at all. He sits in bed drawing in his notebooks.

Cressida lays out the scene for the propo. They want to keep up the star-crossed lovers routine. Show Peeta and me, reunited, together, and ready to take down the Capitol. She explains there's some kind of symbolism between the two of us standing together and the districts standing together. I just nod. We are set to begin filming, Cressida gives us the 'go' signal, but when I start with my first line she holds her hand up. There's some kind of malfunction in the playback monitors. They mess around with it for a bit while Peeta and I stand there awkwardly side by side. I run my lines in my head.

"I'm sorry, we'll have to do this tomorrow," Cressida apologizes with frustration heavy in her tone. She gives me a sympathetic look. She knows I hate these, and the camera malfunction is just dragging it out. Peeta and I step off the stage. My prep team dismantles my Mockingjay suit and hands me my clothes back to change into. Peeta takes his gray uniform from the back of a chair when something small and shiny slips from his pocket and clinks brightly on the floor. Peeta's face flushes as he reaches down and sweeps the item into his hands and shoves it into his pocket.

I only saw it for a fleeting moment. The tiny metal branches that make up the band, a pearl nestled in a pile of leaves. My stomach leaps to my throat.

"Where did you get that?" I barely get out.

"They said you gave it back. When you ended the engagement, that you gave it back," he mumbles.

"I didn't give it back," I answer, and his eyes dart up to mine. "I gave it to Cinna, right before they…" I swallow hard. "Right before he died. I wasn't allowed to wear it in the Arena." He tries to process what I'm saying. "I didn't end the engagement," I state.

"So… it was real?" he asks. I don't know how to answer this. My mind skits around. "Katniss?" It wasn't real. I can't lie to him, but I can't form the words. They stick to the back of my throat like I've swallowed glue. I drop my eyes to the floor.

"Oh," he breathes, and he pulls the ring from his pocket and stares at it. It doesn't mean what he thought it did. "You should take this then," he says, and drops the ring in the palm of my hand. He turns his back to me and walks out of the room.

I occupy the rest of the day hiding behind the pipes in the boiler room. I don't return to my room until late. Johanna is already asleep. I put the ring on my sink and stare at it as I shower. I dry my hair and throw on Peeta's old blue tee shirt. I spend the night twirling it between my fingers. When morning comes I dress in gray, scan my arm, and go to breakfast. I skip morning training and spend the time wandering the halls as the hours slip away. I wait until 1400. Gale and I have an hour to hunt. He knows something is off but we don't talk about it, instead we walk up to the top deck. We are strapping on our ankle monitors when the guard waves us off.

"Big storm rolling in," he calls out. Gale and I lock eyes. We only have 60 minutes, maybe less. We start to run down the hall. We hear the guard yelling behind us that we didn't return the trackers, but we don't stop. Our dormitory is only one level down. We reach my room and find Johanna sitting on her bed, flipping through a manual on ground assault.

"It's going to rain," I huff, and her jaw sets.

"Let's do this," she answers, and slips on her plain gray shoes. We enter the hallway and she hesitates. "I want Peeta and Annie," she states, staring down the long corridor. Gale goes to his room and I pound on Finnick and Annie's door. When Annie greets me she sees Johanna, eyes alight. She nods and steps outside. I see Peeta silently slip into the hallway behind Gale, and we all walk down the hall, Johanna leading the way. When we enter the top deck again, the guard gives us a double take. Everyone bends over and straps on the ankle monitors.

"It's going to downpour," he warns. "No outdoor activities are permitted today."

"Let them through," I hear a voice beckon from the end of the deck, and when I look over I see Boggs. He nods and turns back to continue his arsenal inventory.

We leave our weapons in the locker. We aren't hunting today. We head outside and let the trees dwarf us. Moisture hangs heavy in the air. It's thick, enveloping our skin like steam from a shower. The atmosphere grumbles in discontent. Any minute.

"Come on! What are you waiting for?" Johanna screams to the sky. "I'm not afraid of you!"

As if on cue, as if meeting her threat, as if the stakes were raised, the sky opens up and covers us with a drenching rain. The earth is hungry at first, slurping up the water until it is satiated, then it puddles and pools around our feet.

Johanna throws her head back. "Is that all you got?" she bellows, and a flash of lightening illuminates the woods. She closes her eyes and leans her face back. She stretches her arms out. The rain comes down in sheets and yet she stands still, as if turned to stone. As if she were once a rock and her shape was carved from the rain. As if it gave her being. She is alive. She is beautiful. Johanna screams at the sky until her lungs are empty. Until she runs out of breath. Then she just lets the rain cover her.

My gaze slips past her, and I see Peeta watching Johanna from the far side of our circle. She's making a choice. She's facing her fears. She's spent weeks building herself up to this. She can't just decide to be better, but she can decide to try. In this moment, his look is untranslatable. Pride. Strength. _Hope_. He feels my gaze on him and our eyes lock. His clothing clings to his body, drenched and darkened by the water. His hair hangs straight.

We stand in the cold rain for almost an hour, letting it wash over us. Letting it push the hurt and the hate out of our skin. When we finally head inside, we drip all over the floor and earn sideways looks from the deck workers. I see Finnick at the end of the hall, running in.

"Jo?" he cries out and catches her with his eye. A grin bursts across his face. "Johanna!" he yells and sprints the twenty feet to meet us before he envelopes Johanna in his arms and lifts her in the air.

"Stop it! Stop! It's not a big deal," she banters, but she smiles widely.

"Not a big deal? I can't believe I missed it! I had Ops with Beetee," he replies, dropping her to her feet. Finnick wraps an arm around her waist and they all take off toward the dormitory, but Peeta and I stand still. Gale looks back at me, Peeta standing a few feet behind me.

"We have the propo tonight," I answer and he nods before rushing back to the group.

Peeta and I stand outside the elevator and wait for it to be called to our floor. The light illuminates and the steel doors open. The cold, filtered air of District 13 leaves my skin chilled as droplets of rain water pepper the floor of the elevator. Despite the chill, there is heat emanating between Peeta and I. Peeta steps toward the panel and hits the Emergency Stop button. He keeps his back to me. The air feels heavy and electric, like it did outside before the sky opened up.

"When we were backstage, you were nervous," I say. He turns his head toward my voice, but he's still facing away from me. "You were nervous about proposing. Even though we both knew it wasn't real, you were so nervous. And I told you –"

"You don't have to be nervous right now. You can be nervous when we do this for real," Peeta murmurs.

"You need to survive this war. I need to survive this war. And I know we probably won't, but if we do, someday I want you to ask me for real. Because I am better with you, Peeta. And maybe it doesn't feel like it right now, but you're better with me, too." The words fall out of my mouth before I've processed them. I'm normally quiet. I'm normally introspective and withdrawn. He's the wordsmith, but he's not sure who he is anymore. I whisper the words he used to say to coax me from a nightmare. That he'd use to help me find my way. "Come back to me. I'm right here."

He turns around.

He steps forward.

Closer. He steps closer. The rain water drips from our clothes into tiny puddles at our feet. He closes his eyes, and I know he's seeing Johanna, screaming in the rain; determined, refusing to break. He opens his eyes and meets mine. Determined. Refusing to break.

Closer. He steps closer. I feel my heart throb in my chest, beating against my ribs like an unruly child throwing a tantrum. There's a tantrum in my chest, and I can't breathe, I can't hear anything except the thud of my pulse in my ears.

Closer. He steps closer. The air is humid, and my skin is alive. I feel the cling of cold water on my skin. I feel the slight air from the vent above, whirring and purifying everything around me. I feel the inside of my shoes. I feel my skin prickle.

Closer. He steps closer, until finally he's in front of me. He wraps his arms around my body, he closes the space between us, he buries his mouth in my neck. I feel his breath, hot and unsteady. I feel his skin, I feel a pulse humming between us.

"Can I…?" he asks as he tugs the hem of my shirt from my pants. I nod. He slides a hand under my shirt and up my back. Baker's hands. He gently trails his fingertips over my skin. "Can I stay with you tonight?" he asks.

"Mmhmm," I answer, and we stand there for a moment, still, together, until the elevator starts moving. The emergency stop only holds for a few minutes before reengaging. We pull apart. I tuck my shirt back in, and we head to the sound stage.

"Why are you two soaking wet?" Flavius shrieks. "Katniss, how am I going to do your hair?" He darts around me, like a hummingbird at a sugar water feeder. In the Capitol I'd just step on a drying mat, but here he works through my hair with a towel.

The propo is a blur. We hold hands, we act in love as best we can. It all feels fake to me. Fake but familiar. When Cressida calls it a wrap, it's already well past midnight. Peeta and I walk to my room, our feet dragging in hesitation. I finally open the door to my compartment and find it unexpectedly empty.

"Where is Johanna?" I ask myself more than anything, but she's clearly not been back here. I shake my head.

"Do you, um, want to brush your teeth?" I ask. He nods and we go into my bathroom. He pulls a spare toothbrush from the drawer and wets it in the sink. I sit on the toilet lid and braid my hair. He looks down at me, toothbrush paused in his mouth.

"Did you sit like that before?" he asks, and I nod.

When it's finally time for bed, we just stare at each other awkwardly.

"Did you want to take Johanna's bed? She's clearly not using it," I ramble, stumbling over my words.

"I want to be closer to you," Peeta whispers.

"You can sleep with me," I offer, but he shakes his head and fixes a bed out of blankets on the floor next to mine. He lies down on it and looks up at me. I step over him and settle into bed. I turn on my side and he rolls on his shoulder to face me. I drop my hand from the bed and he weaves his fingers in mine. "Are you cold?" I ask.

"No, I'm not cold," he answers, running his thumb along the back of my hand. My eyes grow heavy. I haven't slept, I haven't truly slept, in so long. "Katniss?" he asks.

"Hm?" I purr, the lull of sleep tugging at me. His voice sounds lazy. Sleepy.

"I remember you sitting next to me, braiding your hair while I brushed my teeth. I remember that," he murmurs quietly. He rolls away from me and he's still for a moment. "Did you make me a cake?" he asks, his back facing me.

"Yes, I made you a cake," I answer.

"It was cinnamon," he says, and I nod even though he can't see me. He lies still, holding his breath, and finally rolls back toward me. He takes my hand again, intricately lacing his fingers with mine. "Good night, Katniss," he whispers.

"Night," I breathe, and I finally get lost in a peacefully dreamless sleep.


	25. Chapter 25 - Lost and Found

When I wake up, Peeta's already gone. The blankets are folded up and placed on Johanna's bed. On top of them is a note, etched on a piece of paper from one of his notebooks.

 _K -_

 _Went to bake. See you at breakfast._

 _\- P_

Peeta's handwriting is different. Before, every stroke he made with a pen was smooth. It flowed in a scroll across the paper like cream swirling in a cup of coffee. Now the words are more of a scribble. Jagged. Inconsistent. He's trying, though.

It's early still. Breakfast isn't for hours. We slept last night, both of us. My mind is clearer now than it has been in weeks, but with it the stark realities of war come barreling to the forefront. Yesterday I told Peeta we needed to survive this war. It's the first time I've spoken about life after the war. No. It's the first time I've even _thought_ about life after the war. I have an expiration date. The second I enter the city, every Peacekeeper, every foot soldier, every Capitol citizen will look to kill me. My death might end the war. I'm beyond the point of martyrdom. My death could be the end of the revolution, one way or another. My death is inevitable. I need to accept that. I need to process.

I need outside of these walls. I throw on a gray uniform and my father's hunting jacket. I open my door and turn right, walking the twenty feet to Gale's door. I raise my fist and knock loudly. He might still be asleep.

"Gale!" I call out, my hand hammering persistently on his door. He opens the door, face flushed.

"Hey Catnip," he offers, leaning out slightly. "I haven't seen Peeta. He didn't come back last night." He stares at me knowingly, and I hear a recognizable cackle from inside the room. I peer over his shoulder and spy Johanna, her hair tussled, pulling up a pair of gray slacks.

"Go ahead, I'm done with him," she says, and as she walks past Gale she slaps his ass so hard it hurts me. He flinches and grins at her. Johanna struts out the door and down the hall to our room, her shoes slung over her shoulder. I raise an eyebrow and look back at Gale.

"Shut up," he says, and retreats back into his compartment.

"I didn't say anything," I tease. He stares at me. "Are you blushing, Soldier Hawthorne?" I torment, which only makes his face beat redder.

"As if you didn't have your own sleepover last night," he retorts.

"Not like _that_ ," I comment, and Gale can't seem to wipe a smirk off his face. "I need fresh air. Come hunting with me."

Gale looks at the clock. It's not even five yet. "I'm tired. Why don't you ask Finnick, I'm sure he'd go with you. I didn't really get any sleep last night."

"Get dressed," I say, picking up his shirt from the floor and shoving it in his hands. "And I don't want to hear anything about you and Johanna. You are my cousin and it grosses me out."

Gale chuckles to himself as he heads in the bathroom to get ready.

He's out in just a couple minutes and we head upstairs. The morning shift change hasn't occurred yet, and the soldiers manned at the door give us a sideways look, but permit us to go outside. I shake my leg, adjusting the uncomfortable tracker. I close my eyes and take in the air, the earth, the forest.

"Did you want to talk?" Gale offers, but I shake my head. After a while, though, a thought festering in my mind tumbles off of my lips.

"Do you think…" I try to find the right words. "Do you think anything happens after you die?"

He stops and looks at me. "No," he answers honestly. "I don't."

"Me either," I admit, digging at the ground with the toe of my boot. A wind picks up and the air chills. At least when I die, I'll finally find that nothingness I search for every night in my sleep. At least the nightmares will finally stop. The crack of a branch stills my thoughts. My eyes dart to Gale. He's heard it too, and his back straightens. I nock an arrow.

It was too heavy a footfall for a deer. Something is out there. Some _one_ is out there. How could the Capitol breech the perimeter unnoticed? The monitors would have captured the hovercraft. The woods are too sprawling and dangerous to trek on foot. My mouth tastes acidic and I swallow. I remember what my father taught me. Breathe. Aim.

When he crests the hill, all ability I had to breathe is stifled. His dirty blonde locks look ragged. His shoulders, once broad, slump in fatigue. When our eyes meet, I find icy blue staring back at me. They are lighter than his brother's.

"Rye," I breathe, dropping my bow limp at my side. I'm seeing things. I'm going crazy.

"Katniss?" he calls back.

"Rye!" I scream and take off for him. I run until I reach him and throw my arms around his neck. I'm crying. I don't cry normally, but I'm crying hard in his arms. "What are you doing here? How are you here?" I ramble.

"We got lost," he says. I look over his shoulder. There's a small group of people behind him, maybe six or seven. Starved, ragged, tired people. My eyes dart between them. They're mostly merchant class. I don't really recognize anyone except...

"Delly?" I murmur. Rye grabs her hand.

"I'm going to run ahead of you and let the guards know we have survivors," Gale tells me, and takes off toward the entrance.

"Come on, this way," I gesture, pulling myself together. They follow me toward the entryway to District 13.

"It's real?" Delly cries out, and I nod my head. She sobs into Rye's shoulder, and he throws an arm around her and leads her toward the door.

Inside, we are met by pointed guns. I instinctually put my hands in the air, as do the survivors. There are no apologies for protocol, no efforts made to welcome these travel-weary immigrants. One of the soldiers pats them down. Rye and one of the older women turn over knives they'd carved out of stone and wood.

"Take them to the brig," the lead soldier orders.

"No," I protest.

"It's only temporary, until we clear any security risks," he tries to explain, but I'm not interested.

"Take them to the hospital," I tell the escorting guard. He stares between me and his superior. "They need medical attention. Look at them!" His eyes drop from mine and scan the people standing before him. Delly can barely hold herself upright. They've probably not eaten for days. He looks back to his boss.

"Sir, I think we should take them to the hospital ward," he says.

"I know these people! They aren't Capitol spies!" I argue.

"Katniss, you have no idea who they are. Look at what happened with Peeta," Gale inserts himself, and Rye's eyes flash.

"What happened with Peeta? Is he alive?" Rye looks at me desperately.

"Yeah, he's alive. He's just… he's different, Rye," I answer.

"Different how?" he blurts.

"Take them to the hospital. I'm getting Peeta," I tell Gale. He nods. The guards finally agree and I take off sprinting for the kitchen. My mind is racing. How will Peeta react to this? By the time I reach my destination, it's abuzz with workers prepping for the morning meal. I see Peeta on the back wall, rolling dough on the counter.

"Peeta!" I call out, but he doesn't hear me. I grab his shoulder. Peeta smiles at me until he sees my face and his expression shifts. He pulls the cotton from his ears and stuffs it in his pockets.

"Katniss, what's wrong?" he asks, raising his hands to my shoulders.

"It's Rye," I spit out, and Peeta's face looks confused. He has difficulty keeping his realities separate, but in every misshapen or real thing he sees, he knows his entire family is dead. "Peeta, he's alive. He escaped Twelve during the bombing, along with some other people from Town." Peeta's eyes shift into a hopeful yet terrified look that makes my stomach hurt.

"Is my dad…?" Peeta chokes on his words.

"No, Peeta. It's just Rye. And Delly," I answer.

"You found Delly?" he asks, his eyes brimming.

"They were outside. They're heading to the hospital ward now," I answer. Peeta takes off running, and I chase behind him. We reach the elevator and he hits the call button repeatedly, his other hand pressed against the wall.

"Come on!" he sighs in frustration, and then he looks up at me. His face shifts. "You found them in the woods?" I nod. "Thank you," he says, and he steps forward and kisses my mouth. It's quick. Harmless. His eyes fill with such gratitude that for a second I feel like Peeta is really here. The old Peeta. The elevator doors open and the moment is lost as he rushes inside. The ride feels like an eternity, when in reality it's maybe seconds between the floors.

When the doors open, Peeta runs through them. "Rye? Rye!" he calls out, his feet pounding the floor of the hospital ward as he darts past the reception area. He lived here for so long he doesn't need a guide. He weaves himself masterfully down hallways and through the hospital staff.

"Peeta!" I hear Rye call out, and Peeta takes off running. When Rye sees Peeta, he pulls himself out of bed and the two brothers collide in the middle of the room. "I thought you were dead, I thought for sure you were dead," Rye repeats over and over.

"Me too," Peeta whispers.

They talk. Their voices draw low when they speak about the bakery. Peeta feels guilty. While Snow convinced him to blame the bombings on me for a long time, since he's come to terms with what actually happened he's shifted the blame to himself.

"So, are you guys married yet?" Rye asks, and Peeta and I both stare awkwardly at the floor. "Oh," Rye realizes. "Did you break up?"

"It's complicated," I say, and Peeta looks at me with a culpable gaze. "Don't," I whisper to him and squeeze his hand.

Rye stays in the hospital that night. Peeta skips dinner. I skip training and sit in my compartment. Johanna doesn't come back. I'm guessing she's at Gale's. Peeta slips into my room in the middle of the night. He lies on the floor next to my bed and stares at the ceiling. I roll on my stomach and look down at him.

"How's Rye?" I ask softly.

"Sleeping. Finally. It took forever to get Delly to stop talking," he answers, smiling faintly to himself.

"That sounds about right," I tease, and he glares at me playfully. His face turns serious.

"Katniss?" Peeta whispers, and I look at him expectantly. He sits up. "Thank you," he says again.

"I was just in the right place at the right time," I answer.

"You brought my family back to me," he says. For a minute we just stare at each other, and then Peeta rises to his feet. "Push over," he whispers, and I scoot myself over on the bed. Peeta lifts the covers and crawls in beside me. He curls his body into mine. He nuzzles his face into my neck. I feel like I can finally breathe. We eventually fall asleep, our hands intertwined.

Rye and the rest of the District 12 survivors stay in the hospital about a week. They are interrogated repeatedly by officials from 13, but their story is consistent. During the firebombings, Rye and Delly were not home. Rye was upset about what happened in the Arena; that his brother was probably dead. He took off running and Delly followed him to the back of the slag heap. They were hiding there when the bombs started going off. Rye immediately focused on protecting Delly, and they sprinted for the woods behind Thom's. Little did they know they were running in the opposite direction of the rest of the District 12 evacuees. They ran into the others in the woods, and eventually they decided to try to reach 13. Fairy tale or not, it was their only shot. They had no navigational tools and were basically lost, using only the moon, sun, and direction of the river to go on. It took months. They lost four people along the way. That's the word they all use. "We lost them," Rye says.

They died. Infection, mostly. One starved.

When they saw me in the woods, Rye thought I was an apparition. A ghost. What he wanted to see, not what actually was. But here they are now, fed and clothed. Relatively safe. Safer than in the wilderness, I suppose, although being forgotten by the war has its benefits.

Rye and Delly join us for breakfast. Peeta smiles the whole time. The rest of us leave for training, and the three of them become thick as thieves. Annie and Delly grow close. Peeta is moved out of Gale's and he and Rye end up bunking together, but Peeta still comes to my room every night. He sleeps in my bed. He holds onto my hand like an anchor.

One morning at breakfast, Delly is chattering away about stories from home. Gale squeezes my knee hard. His tolerance for Delly is as low as mine, and that's saying something. "Oh, you remember Nelle Baumwood! Evan's older sister? She's was reaped four or five years ago. Gosh, I think she was a tribute in the 69th Games? Maybe?"

Across the table from me, Peeta's body seizes tight. _Tribute._ His eyes blow out, his pupils like two pieces of charcoal. Everyone stills.

"What's happening?" Rye asks with urgency.

"Did you just flash?" I ask Peeta, my voice quivering.

"Yes," he says. His eyes are fixed on me, but every muscle in his body is clenched in place. He's practically growling under his breath.

"What is flashing?" Rye blurts out. No one answers him.

"Do you want to kill me?" I ask, my eyes still locked with Peeta's.

"Yes," he breathes. His body bristles, his knuckles go white.

"What the hell?" Rye shouts, but we all continue ignoring him.

"Are you going to?" I ask Peeta, quieter still, our gaze never breaking.

He fights to get the next word out. "No," he struggles, panting.

"Why not?" I say.

Peeta closes his eyes, shutting me out. Shutting everything out. "Because I'm in love with you," he exhales, as if the words themselves feel like poison burning his mouth. But he's in control. He's aware. Peeta's eyes shoot open and he glares at me. "Gale," he says, his stare turning dark.

"Yes," Gale answers, keeping his tone even while his body is poised to react.

"I need you to hit me over the head with your lunch tray. Can you do that for me?" Peeta asks, his eyes fixated on me.

"Oh hell no!" Rye practically yells.

"Peeta, you don't have to do that," I start, but he raises his hand.

"It hurts," Peeta whispers. "It hurts to not hurt you." He clenches his jaw and groans. "Gale, come on."

I see Gale in one swift motion grab his tray, stand, and slam Peeta over the head like he's swinging a bat. Peeta drops to the table. That's when Rye Mellark stands up and punches Gale squarely in the jaw.


	26. Chapter 26 - Living

District 13 guards descend on our table, attempting to detain Gale and Rye. Rye is fuming at Gale, who is simply holding his hands in the air as the guards approach. When one twists Gale's arm behind his back, Johanna stands and shoves the guard backwards, and he falls to the floor hard. I jump across the table to Peeta, whispering to him but he's not coming around. Another guard pulls out a baton, at which point Finnick throws himself in front of Johanna.

"Enough!" we hear a voice bellow across the room. Boggs is standing at the end of the dining hall. He crosses to our table. "All of you, with me. Right now." He dismisses the guards, who grumble before repossessing their posts.

Everyone at the table leaves their trays as is and stands, except for me.

"Peeta! Peeta!" I whisper, shaking his shoulder, but he's out cold. "I need… I need…" I ramble. "I need a medic!" I yell, and Boggs speaks into his communicuff and dispatches a crew from the hospital. Everyone stands around awkwardly waiting until two people clad in white medic uniforms finally appear in the dining hall. They load Peeta onto a stretcher. I'm about to follow them out when Boggs gestures to me.

"You too, Soldier Everdeen," he says, and my stomach boils. Boggs leads us all up to Command. I stare at the gray walls in the hallway, and only raise my head when I notice Haymitch catching up to our crew.

"Let me do the talking, sweetheart," he says. Apparently he's already been filled in. I wonder if Boggs somehow communicated with him, but the thought slips from my mind when we enter Command. The room is silent, the table empty. Coin, Plutarch, Fulvia, and a few people I don't recognize stand around the space, some with arms folded, others with neutral faces. What is this, a tribunal? We sit around the table – Finnick and Annie, Gale and Johanna, Delly and Rye, and me. Haymitch stays standing and Boggs crosses the room to Coin.

"How is Soldier Mellark?" Coin asks, and then her eyes fall on Rye. "The _other_ Soldier Mellark."

"Word from the hospital ward is he's fine. He was still coming down from the flash when he came to. He's a bit disoriented, but appears to be alright," Boggs explains.

Coin nods and switches her attention. "Soldier Hawthorne, I expected more restraint from you. Assaulting a fellow member of your unit in front of civilians is quite out of the ordinary."

"He asked me to, ma'am," Gale offers, with more veneration than I'll ever give this woman.

"The kid flashed," Haymitch says. "Gale was talking a precaution. Maybe over the top, but keeping the Mockingjay safe is a top priority. Rye hasn't been made aware of Peeta's condition and was simply acting defensively. It's a misunderstanding, really." Rye shifts uncomfortably.

Coin moves her silver eyes from Haymitch back to Gale, and then she clears her throat and addresses the group as a whole. "The assault on the Capitol will begin in two weeks' time. Were schedules more permissive, I would take this matter further, but seeing as how numerous assets from our lead squad were involved in the altercation, I cannot afford such a substantial change in direction so late in the game. I expect each and every one of your to be on your best behavior until deployment. Any additional infractions will not be met so mercifully."

We nod silently, but all I hear in my head is the first firm detail we've had on the timetable. Two weeks. Two weeks. This will all come to a head in two weeks. This will all come to an end.

Coin's stare moves to Rye. "I don't know you, Soldier Mellark. From what I've seen on television, you do not appear to be a serious man. You should note District Thirteen is a serious place. You'd be wise to remember that." It's a miracle Rye doesn't stick his tongue out at her. For being Peeta's older brother, he's more juvenile than anything.

We're dismissed to our schedules, except for Haymitch, who has been missing more and more training sessions due to meetings in Command. While the rest of my group returns to training, my feet lead me to the hospital. I know I shouldn't. He probably doesn't want to see me right now.

Peeta's still sleeping when I show up. I stand outside his room and watch him through the glass. Sleeping. Is that the right word for someone who has been knocked unconscious? This scenario is hauntingly familiar. This is my fault.

"He'll be okay, Katniss," I hear my little sister intimate. I turn around to find Prim standing next to me.

"What are you doing here, little duck? Shouldn't you be in class?" I ask. I've seen so much less of Prim since training started. Since I actually started doing what the purple ink on my arm told me to.

"I have an internship this trimester," she explains. I nod and look back at Peeta. "He'll wake up soon. Go see him."

"They said he was already awake," I murmur.

"He was, but he was still struggling with the flash so they gave him some morphling and it knocked him out," she says. She watches my face. "He's okay, Katniss," she says reassuringly.

"Thanks," I reply, and hug her tight. She's gotten so much older. Every time I blink my little sister reflects more and more who she'll be when she grows up than the little girl with the wide, innocent eyes. I open the door to Peeta's room and pull the chair next to his bed. I drop my head down and lay my arms across his legs. I close my eyes.

"What does it mean when you say he 'flashes'?" Rye asks me from the doorway. I sit up. This isn't my story to tell.

"You should talk about it with Peeta," I answer.

"I want to hear it from you," Rye responds. "Katniss, he said he wants to kill you. What are you still doing here?" My eyes drift back to the boy in the bed, and Peeta begins to stir. His legs shift and sounds garble in his throat like when you are still asleep enough to hold onto a dream, but awake enough to know you're about to lose it. He wakes, bleary-eyed, and focuses on me.

"Oh god, Katniss. Did I hurt you?" he asks, remembering at least some of the earlier events.

"No, I'm fine. You were in control the whole time," I offer. His eyes drift off me and land on Rye. His cheeks burn and I can feel the shame radiating from him. I stand. "I have training," I mumble, and dismiss myself. I look through the glass and see Rye take my seat next to Peeta.

That night I run until my legs burn and my lungs beg for compassion. I go back to my empty compartment and shower. I run my face under the lukewarm water and try to clear my thoughts, but under my eyelids I see the Capitol burn with me in it. I shut off the water and dally with my nightly routine. I keep staring at the door waiting for Peeta, but it remains dormant. I know he was discharged from the hospital. I crawl in bed and stare at the handle in the dark. My eyes burn and sleep creeps up on me, but I force myself awake. I can't sleep without him, or I'm going to slip back into a nightmarish hell of reapings and war.

I get on my feet and walk down the hall to the Mellark compartment. I lightly knock on the door and Rye answers.

"Hey Katniss," he whispers, keeping his voice low.

"Is Peeta sleeping?" I ask.

"No, but his head hurts. Trying to keep it down," Rye returns.

"Oh, I'll just go. Sorry," I offer, but he grabs my hand.

"I didn't say you had to leave," he states, opening the door wider. Peeta is lying in his bed facing the wall. Bed is a generous word for the accommodations of 13. It's more like a single person cot with one side against the perimeter of each cookie cutter room. That's what Peeta called it one night when we stayed up talking. I asked what he meant, and he said when you make sugar cookies, you use a special shaped cutter to make sure all the cookies look exactly the same. District 13 is a cookie cutter district.

Peeta's pillow is pressed over his head as he tries to force out the light and sound. "I'm going to shower," Rye says, heading to the bathroom and closing the door. I sit on the edge of Peeta's bed. He pulls the pillow around his head harder.

"Go away, Katniss," he says. My head is telling me to run. Maybe this self-destructive streak will get me killed. At this point I don't care. I drop down next to him and press my chest to his back. I tuck my knees behind his and wrap my arms around his waist. His entire body is vibrating, trembling at such a high frequency it's practically imperceptible until you feel it against your skin. I scratch his back with my fingertips and I feel him still beneath my touch.

"Why didn't you tell him?" I whisper. I try to keep the tone out of my voice. I don't want to sound like I'm accusing him of something.

"I just wanted someone not to look at me like I'm an imposter. I couldn't have him look at me the way all of you do," he rambles. My fingers pause.

"Coin says we deploy in two weeks. Are you coming?" I ask his back, keeping my voice low.

"I don't want to kill anyone, Katniss," Peeta murmurs into his pillow.

"You won't," I say. "You were in control today, and it was a new trigger. You didn't lose it."

Peeta rolls over and faces me. "You're just seeing what you want to see," he replies. I remember him saying that on the train tracks about himself. That he should have known I didn't love him in the first Arena. That he was just seeing what he wanted to see. We lie there, still. Our heads sharing a pillow, our faces so close I can feel his breath.

"Come to my room," I whisper.

"Why are you doing this?" he breathes. I pull my body in closer to his.

"Because I'm selfish," I answer honestly.

"They say I loved you," he states.

"You did," I whisper, and the past tense feels like gravel in my mouth. He said he loved me. He said so today. Peeta's brow furrows.

"Did you love me?" Peeta asks quietly.

"I do," I breathe. He loses his confidence and drops his gaze. "I'm sorry," I offer, too little too late.

"It just… I have all these memories of you pushing me away. And they aren't violent or shiny and…those aren't real?" he asks. He's confused.

"Some of it is real," I confess. No lying. I wait, and I realize Peeta can't see anything _but_ gray anymore. He can't see real or not real. He needs black and white now, but we've never been that simple. "What do you remember?" I ask, my voice small. I'm not sure I want to know how much of us he's lost.

"Bits and pieces here and there. I remember–" He starts but swallows the word. He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. He's seeing something I'm not. When his voice returns, it's like he's thinking more than he's speaking. "I remember you stepping away from me on the train tracks. I remember the days and weeks alone after the Games, with my family down at the bakery and you pretending I didn't exist. I remember you drifting away in the ocean. But…" He pauses. "I remember you sneaking into my room in Victor's Village. I remember sketching you in the sunlight. I remember kissing you in a doorway, but when I open my eyes the place shifts," he rambles.

"You've kissed me in more than one doorway," I reply, and his eyes shoot up to mine.

"What are we doing here, Katniss?" he asks, shifting his weight so we're only a breath apart.

"Living," I answer.


	27. Chapter 27 - Promises Made

Annie and Finnick wanted to marry in District 4, but with Finnick's impending deployment they decide to have the ceremony in 13. I feel bad for Annie. Normally she'd be primped and preened by her friends, but Johanna and I are hardly adequate. Did she have a sister? A mom? Are they even alive? I find myself walking to a specific destination, one I've come to frequent when I recognize my social shortcomings. I knock quickly on the door, and Effie Trinket pops her head out. She still spends most of her time locked away, but she doesn't seem quite so sad anymore. I think more than anything she fears making some kind of societal faux pas, as if 13 even cares about that sort of thing.

"Katniss! How lovely to see you!" Effie chirps, opening the door for me. I make my way inside and sit at a small table. I pick up a tiny gold foil star and spin it around in my fingertips, but Effie tisk-tisks and orders me not to fidget.

"Annie's getting married," I tell her, but she already knows. Haymitch keeps her appraised on the goings-on outside her door, even if she refuses to go out. "I, um, well…"

"Don't mumble, Katniss," Effie scolds, and I try to find the words.

"I think she could use a friend. Someone to help her find a dress, get excited about her hair…" I start.

"Who wouldn't be excited about her hair? Just imagine her flowing auburn locks over a seafoam green dress! Something elegant, yet not overdone. Something to make her feel at home," Effie offers, and it reaffirms how woefully unqualified I am for this role.

"Effie, she needs an escort. Cressida is planning on filming the wedding for a propo, but these people in 13…" I don't need to finish.

"Don't tell me _they_ are planning this poor girl's wedding?" Effie stammers, as if the mere idea of a 13-themed wedding is repulsive. I nod. Effie immediately stands and starts fluttering about the room. "I'll need to consult your prep team immediately. I know we recovered some of Cinna's items for you, I'm sure we could alter a dress for Annie. Two days is hardly enough time!" She's talking to herself now more than me. I smile. Any wedding Effie would throw herself might be garish and overtly extravagant, but if I learned anything from her help with my engagement ring, she understands her audience. "Tell Annie I'll be up to her room within the hour. Don't let that girl eat a single sweet! Luckily she still has her demure frame." She continues on and I excuse myself. She doesn't need me anymore. She has a purpose.

When Effie shows up at her room, Annie blushes and smiles shyly. She's every bit the girlish bride, not a part I could ever play. When Effie finds the dress she was thinking of, Annie's chin trembles as she runs her hands over the fabric. "The color reminds me of home," she says quietly.

"Everything will!" Effie trumpets. "Just because you can't get married in Four, doesn't mean we can't bring a little Four to you, my dear!" Annie wraps Effie in a tight hug, and I duck out the door. Mission accomplished.

My feet wander to the kitchen. Peeta hasn't been speaking to me. Or rather, he won't stay in the same room as me, so we haven't had the opportunity to speak. He scared himself. We did a trigger desensitization session for _tribute_ down in the brig, but since then he's avoided me altogether. I see his back as he works in the far corner. I stand still and watch him for a minute before crossing over to him. I tap his shoulder and he turns around, but when he sees it's me his body stiffens. He pulls the cotton from his ears.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," I answer awkwardly. We're both silent.

"Look, Katniss," he starts, but I interrupt him.

"I brought you something," I offer, and his face falls still. I pull a set of tiny buds from my pocket and step near to him, but he jolts back and rattles into the table, making a racket as the metal tools clamor on the metal counter. Eyes dart to us and shift back politely to their work.

"Sorry," he mumbles. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and looks at me again. He nods, giving my permission to approach. I step closer so our bodies are nearly touching but not. I place the buds in his ears and press the receiver, no bigger than the button of a shirt, in his hand.

"I thought the silence might be lonely," I whisper and push his thumb into the button. The corner of his mouth lifts. The tiny device plays music only he can hear. It's brighter than silence. He closes his eyes and lets the sound wash over him. He lets the rhythm guide his pulse instead of the fear that's taken up residence in his chest. I asked Beetee to load music from District 12. Stringed instruments. Guitars and fiddles and folk music, instruments and songs passed down through generations. No words. Never any words.

"It sounds like home," he whispers. I want to stay, but I know that's not what he needs from me right now. Instead I squeeze his hand and walk away.

On the way down to training my mind shifts. In the last few days, the tide of the war has begun to change. Since the dismantling of the Nut in 2, the Capitol has found itself completely cut off. Unlike 13, however, the city is not in the position to reinvent itself and suddenly become self-sufficient. Capitolites unaccustomed to hunger and frugality are exhausting their emergency stockpiles at an alarming rate. The Capitol may be able to scrape along for a while, but the war is coming to a head.

The rebels have mounted a coordinated attack, leaving the Capitol scrambling to protect itself on multiple sides. As such, Snow has set off a barrage of air raids to push the rebels back on the defensive. His targets are unpredictable and savage. One day he'll decimate a rebel stronghold, the next he'll target the weakest among us. He destroys hospitals. He sends a Peacekeeping force in and lynches a refugee camp of nearly fifty people. He releases Mutts into the wilderness to hunt down those fleeing war. He gasses rebel bases. When Finnick appears in a propo, he drowns District 4 in boiling water. When Johanna is captured on film, he sets the trees of District 7 ablaze. Any restraint he's previously held to preserve population or resources is set asunder, but the forward motion of the rebels toward his city is unforgiving. His efforts to dissuade or distract them merely incite more rage. The spark that lit Panem is an uncontrollable fire now. He's batting at

The footage makes me sick. Snow has no qualms about killing whoever he needs to stay in power. He has no sorrow over enlisting children into his war. I count the dead in my head. I remember those I knew among them – Cinna, Portia, Rue, nameless and faceless and countless others – until my stomach hurts with the desire for vengeance.

In training I manage to take down Gale in sparring. I remember what Peeta and Rye taught me – shifting my stance, using my opponent's height and bulk against them. I can't keep him pinned, I don't have the weight for that, but when his back smacks the mat I hear the air wheeze out of his lungs.

The next day Effie calls me and Johanna out of our training lesson on how to find an air source in a flooded room to watch Annie try on her dress. I try to remind myself that when I die drowning, at least I'll be able to close my eyes and see Annie in a dress I'm going to see her in tomorrow anyway. Johanna verbally grumbles the whole way up, but we both plaster on fake smiles for Annie. She really is striking, though. Her ruby hair curls in soft waves over the silky dress. It's simple yet elegant. It's not the overstated wedding gown I wore for the interviews. It swishes out at her feet, and she swings her hips back and forth and smiles at the swooshing noises.

"I look like a mermaid," she shines at us. I don't know what a mermaid is, but it must be beautiful because she is beaming.

Effie corrals Plutarch into wedding planning. Each detail is a battle with leadership. There are no flowers in 13. Why waste crop resources on something useless? Effie has to fight for every musical note, every decoration. Plutarch clashes with Coin over a guest list. In 13, a wedding is two people signing a piece of paper. Plutarch's list of hundreds is unnecessary to say the least. The only reason she acquiesces to anything at all is the value of the propo. Ultimately Coin vetoes a dinner, entertainment, and alcohol, but even this quiet celebration causes a stir in 13, where they seem to have no holidays at all.

When I get back to my compartment that evening, Finnick is camped on my floor weaving long blades of grass. I look over and find Johanna snoring in her bunk.

"What are you doing?" I whisper to Finnick, dropping on the floor beside him.

"In District Four, the couple says their vows while sharing a woven net around their shoulders. It's supposed to signify how their lives are woven together by their marriage. Normally it's made by their parents, but…" his voice drifts off, and he clears his throat. "I wanted Annie to have one."

I rest my head on my knees and watch his fingers move and stitch the grass in intricate knots.

"Do you think you'll go home to Four?" I ask softly. Finnick's brow furrows as he thinks through my words.

"Well, that's a loaded question. I want to go home. But I think what you are really asking is will we win the war? Will any of us survive it?" Finnick has always been able to see right through me. Our exterior personalities are polar opposites of one another. He smiles freely and is easy with his affection. I scowl and retreat away from people. But inside, I think Finnick Odair and I are a lot alike. "If we win the war, if I survive it, then yes, I want to bring Annie home. I want to live a quiet life. I want to fill a house with tiny Odairs and teach them how to swim and fish. I want the air to taste like salt and smell like the sea. I want Annie to know peace." He lifts his eyes from his work and looks at me. "What do you want, Katniss? If the war is over."

I don't know how to answer this question. There is no District 12 to go home to.

"Maybe Jo and I follow you to Four and shack up next to you," I tease, and he rolls his eyes.

"I didn't say you were invited," he retorts with a flirtatious smile. He can't help himself.

We both grow quiet, though. I don't have a home anymore.

"You could, you know. You could come live with me," he says softly. I could. The idea of Finnick half the country away makes me uncomfortable. We've made a little family here. A family of half-broken people. I give a half a smile, but it doesn't reach my eyes. I clear my throat.

"I have Prim. And my mom. I assume I'll go where they go." I'm leaving _him_ unspoken in the air. Peeta. Finnick looks at me knowingly. "He, um, he doesn't want me around."

Finnick laughs, but not in a funny way. "Katniss, Peeta wants nothing _but_ you. He's looking out for you. That's what you two do – keep each other safe. He just thinks the best way to keep you safe is to keep you at a distance."

"What am I supposed to do with that?" I ask, frustrated.

"Show him he's wrong," Finnick replies, and returns to his weaving. When he finishes, he stretches out on my floor and drifts off. I keep the net in my closet and lie alone in my bed, staring at the sleeping groom.

The ceremony is beautiful. When Finnick sees Annie for the first time, he loses his breath. Her green eyes are glassy with tears when he pulls out the net and wraps it around her shoulders. They say vows, they make promises, and I remember the promises Peeta and I made in the dark of the night between the sheets of our bed. Promises that made my stomach twist because they were true. Promises made between the pants of ecstasy and promises made on the edges of nightmares.

Annie and Finnick touch each other's lips with salt water. They sing an old hymn from District 4. Finnick couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, but it's honest.

I don't have to pretend to be happy for them.

When a fiddler strikes up a song, all the guests begin dancing. We're happy. We're happy for a moment. I stand off to the side not knowing what to do with myself when I feel Johanna slide her bony body next to mine.

"Come on, Mockingjay. Don't you want to show Snow you're happy?" she mocks. She's right though. What could irk him more than a happy Mockingjay? I find Prim on the dancefloor and s her around. I remember dancing in our kitchen. I take the boy's part, as Prim has always made me, and lead her across the room. I twirl her until she's dizzy, and she clings to my shoulders laughing. She looks… free. This is what we are fighting for. I smile at her, until her eyes bulge and she ducks her body behind mine, hiding.

Rory Hawthorne greets me with a shy smile.

"Prim, do you want to do dance?" he asks. Behind me Prim appears to have forgotten how to speak English, because the blubbering sounds she makes do not resemble any words I know.

"She'd love to," I say, and shove my sister into the boy's arms. She glares at me with dagger eyes and I stick out my tongue at her before crossing the room. I spy Peeta near the door to the kitchen, placing some last minute touches on the wedding cake. It's a dazzling blue-green, with white-tipped icing waves swimming across the top, holding sailboats on their crests and fish in their bellies.

"It's beautiful," I state, and Peeta raises his face to look up to me.

"Thanks," he says, his smile bright, but I can feel the apprehension behind it. I step forward, my heart hammering wildly in my chest.

"Dance with me," I whisper in his ear.

"This isn't a good idea," he says, but he doesn't back away. I take his hand and pull him onto the dancefloor.

"Close your eyes and dance with me," I repeat, my cheek gliding against his. He lets his eyelids fall shut, and his hands settle on my waist. The music slows into a soft ballad. I reach one hand down and weave it with his, so our palms touch. He pulls our held hands up to his mouth and presses his lips gently to our fingers. Anyone could watch us right now, but in this moment I don't care. The feel of him swaying with me, something comes to life between us, like every particle is charged with a current. He pulls me closer, his thumb rubbing into my hip, and I feel it buzzing off our skin.

"I want you," he breathes into my neck, and my body becomes alive with heat.

"Sneak away with me," I whisper, and I remember these same words on our Tour. Peeta's eyes lock with mine. "Sneak away with me." He nods.

I take his hand and we carefully extract ourselves from the crowd. The coolness of the vacant halls makes my skin prickle, and I feel exposed in the thin dress.

"Here," I say, and pull him into a broom closet.

"Katniss, we shouldn't be alone like this," Peeta begs, and I shut the light off. We are plunged into darkness. I take away his sight and the other senses heighten. Every bit of space between us is a betrayal. I press my body into his and he moans into my neck. "Katniss," he pants.

"Let's stop pushing each other away. For one night, let's just stop," I breathe, and his eyes meet mine. The unanswered question lingers, and I feel every part of me aching from the distance between us. Peeta keeps his breathing shallow as he tries to keep his hands off of me.

"Katniss, I…" Our eyes have started to adjust and he drops his gaze to my collarbone. I bite my lip and it's like a dam breaking. "Okay," he pants as his mouth crashes into mine. He buries his fingers in my hair and tugs my bottom lip with his teeth. I lose the ability to breathe.

Want is no longer a relevant word. I need him. I'm aching with need and I can't wait anymore. I can't play this game of back and forth. I want forward, only forward. My body shakes as my hands drop low, and I feel Peeta catch his breath. Everything, every piece of me is throbbing. My fingers graze the length of him, hard and eager. I find the zipper of his pants and slide it down. His eyes shoot up to mine, open wide. The desire is suffocating. Peeta lifts me up, pushes me against the wall of the closet, and hitches my skirt up. He pulls my panties to the side and buries himself inside me. I gasp and cling to his hair. He groans and drops his forehead against the wall, his lips dragging along my ear. My body coats itself in sweat. We stay like this for a moment, still, quiet, unearthed. Peeta inside me, our bodies pressed together. The closeness we've both lost, finding us here, finding us now. I feel a shaky breath escape my lungs. My skin is on fire.

I can hear every bit of air enter his body and tremble its way out.

Peeta begins to gently rock his hips. I wrap my legs around his waist and cling to the wall while he begins to thrust harder. I try to be silent, but a soft whimper escapes my lips and his voice shakes.

"Do that again," he begs, and I sigh into him. "Oh my god," he shivers, his body responding to every sound it coaxes out of me. He buries his mouth in my neck, sucking and pulling as if he can remember every bit of us through the taste of salt on my skin. My fingers knot in his hair and tug at it gently as we rock against the wall. I can hear the music for the wedding happily ringing in the distance. I can hear the sound of people laughing. I can hear Peeta breathing through the pleasure, finding peace in the first thing that's felt good in months. Here in the dark, his body isn't a canvas for brutality. Here in the dark, I bring him back to life.

He slides his hand along my cheek and our eyes meet. We make eye contact as our bodies move beneath us, begging each other for more. I shift my hips slightly and his next thrust buries him deep. He moans and I feel his body shake. Our mouths press together and we sometimes kiss, but mostly we're just breathing into each other as he pumps into me. I forgot what good feels like. I can't catch my breath and I don't want to. I'm high from the lack of oxygen, and I scratch my fingers down his back and a noise gets lost in his throat as he closes his eyes. He forces them open, though, back on me.

When he picks up speed I cry out and Peeta kisses me hard. His hands leave my waist and I cling to his body while he runs them all over me. He slides his hand under my bra and runs a thumb over my nipple. I nearly choke on the moan I'm fruitlessly failing to stifle. I'm close, and I don't need words to know Peeta is there too. I feel all my muscles tightening and I want my name on his lips, in his mouth. This isn't a shiny, blurry memory. This is real and urgent and here. I clench myself around him again and he can barely keep standing.

"Oh my god, Katniss," he pleads, and at my name a wave crashes over me. I keep my eyes locked with his and feel his body stiffen under mine. This is not how I imagined our first time after his hijacking would be. I imagined something slow and cautious, but as my body shakes around him, I remember we aren't who we were then. There is no time to stop and cherish the things you have. My thoughts get lost as I arch my back, and I finally shiver and we both slide down the wall.

"That was real, right?" Peeta asks, his chest heaving.

"That was real," I breathe, scratching his scalp lightly.

"I'm never leaving his closet," he teases, and I laugh for a moment before my face turns serious.

"Me either," I whisper, and he kisses me slowly.


	28. Chapter 28 - Forget

With deployment only ten days out, our training schedules have been ramped up. As our squad does pushups in a line, I watch the sweat drip from my nose and make a puddle under me on the floor.

"Not exactly how I imagined I'd spend my first days as a newlywed, looking at your sweaty face," Finnick grunts next to me and I can't help but laugh. My arms quake and give out, and I smack my chin on the floor. Finnick loses it, and Gale scowls at us. The closer we get to our deployment, the more focused he becomes. He reminds me a little of Peeta before the Quell.

"Come on, Catnip, get to work," he groans, and I hoist my body back into position. I'm not sure how useful this is. My muscles will be too tired to hold a bow by the time we are done. We're dismissed for lunch, and I scan the mess for Peeta. Coming up empty, I take a seat next to my sister, who is eating in her white medic's uniform. She's been so busy with her internship she hardly ever takes the thing off, but it's not like the gray clothes the rest of us live in are much of an improvement. I see Rory Hawthorne one table over, his eyes dart up to Prim and back down at his meal.

"Go talk to him," I urge, and she blushes.

"I'm too busy with the hospital," Prim dismisses me, blushing feverishly at her bowl of mashed turnips.

"Primrose Everdeen, you are almost fourteen. You can lose yourself to your career as an adult, but right now you are a teenage girl. Act like one," I say, tickling the underneath of her chin with her braid. She giggles and swats and my hand, but finally grabs her tray and goes to sit next to Rory.

The afternoon focuses on combat technology. We take this meeting in Command, since some of our intel is classified. Plutarch stands over the table, at the center of which is a flat machine the size of a dinner plate. Plutarch presses a button and a huge holographic image of the Capitol projects into the air.

"It's called a holograph, or holo for short," Plutarch says. He explains what we should expect to encounter in the Capitol. "This area here, for example, is the Peacekeepers' barracks. Not unimportant, but not the most crucial target during the siege. Now look here," he indicates, and depresses a different button on the holo. A bunch of colored lights begin flashing around the barracks. "These are the pods."

"What are pods?" Gale asks, his eyes narrowing as he examines the map.

"They each represent a different obstacle," Boggs says, "Though obstacle makes it sound like a training course and it's anything but. It could be a bomb. It could be a pack of Mutts. It could be a nerve agent. It could be any cruel and deadly invention of the Capitol. The pods are lethal and merciless. They are designed to kill you."

The violent dreams of Gamemakers, I think to myself.

"Some have been around since the Dark Ages. Others are new inventions. Some I invented myself," Plutarch states. He's more serious than I've ever seen him. "I smuggled out the holo before the breach on the Arena. They don't know we have this. Even so, it's likely out of date. There may be new pods anywhere."

"These are just the ones we know about," Haymitch affirms. "Most of the pods have some kind of pressure trigger, like a mine on a battlefield, but that doesn't mean they can't be detonated manually. When we move through the city, we have to be cautious of where the cameras are, where we are seen or not." This is why Haymitch has been missing training. He's working with Boggs and Plutarch on our route in.

We take a moment to assess the map of the city. The pods are unavoidable. Each corner a new trap, a new threat, a new danger.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Finnick says under his breath, but he doesn't finish. The voice comes from behind me.

"Welcome to the 76th annual Hunger Games." I turn around and see him standing in the doorway.

"Peeta," I utter under my breath.

"Solider Mellark. Glad you could join us," Coin says placidly.

I'm not totally sure why Peeta has been called into this meeting. He is still not coming to the siege. He doesn't trust himself in the field. Maybe here, in a semi-controlled environment, he can keep things together, but the Capitol grounds are unpredictable.

"You're not going to kill me," I said last night, the glow from the bathroom light the only thing illuminating the pitch black room.

 _He buries himself under the sheets and presses his face to my bare chest. "You don't know that," he whispers. I pull the sheet over my head and find his eyes in the dark._

 _"Gale would never allow it. Finnick would never allow it. Boggs would never allow it," I state. "Johanna… maybe," I add with a light laugh, but Peeta pulls away from me._

 _"It's not funny, Katniss," he says, sitting up. He pulls his knees to his chest, his back facing me. In the dim light, I can finally see what I've already felt with wandering fingertips. Why he won't let me bear witness to him in the light. His back is a portrait of violence. Wounds that I can't even distinguish from one another, some areas so scarred I can't tell whether he's been burned or cut or scalded. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix him. Instead, I lean forward and press my lips to the bundle of scar tissue. Peeta inhales sharply. "Katniss, you don't have to…" but the words get garbled in his throat as I move my lips and kiss the next mar, the next aberration on his skin. And the next. He's shaking when I crawl around him and run my lips along his chest, along every place that once hurt. "You'll be here all night doing that," he whispers._

 _"Okay," I say._

Peeta stands at the edge of the room, watching as discussion unfolds about tactical routes through the city. My eyes glaze over. I haven't slept much in the last couple days. I've had better things to do in the dark of my room, but it's starting to catch up with me. I need to pay attention. Missing any of this could result in me getting killed. When we're dismissed, though, I don't remember any of it.

"What's going on, Katinss?" Gale asks as we file out into the hallway.

"Nothing," I say dismissively, and I see Peeta waiting for me on the opposite side of Command. "Go ahead, I'll catch up," I tell Gale.

"Are you sure?" he asks, eyeing Peeta warily. "I can stay."

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'll be down in a few minutes," I reply, and Gale walks away, checking on me once over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

"I don't like this," Peeta says, uncertainty hanging on his voice. The siege. The Capitol. Another Arena. "They won't possibly be ready in a week's time."

"Ten days," I say. Peeta buries his hands in his hair.

"I've asked to be deployed with another unit," Peeta finally says.

"What?" I scoff.

"I can't be near you out there. Not when I might…" his voice trails off, but I'm angry now.

"So you are willing to fight, but just not beside me?" I raise my voice.

"He killed my family!" Peeta bursts out, and his words ring in the silent hallway. "He killed my family," he repeats quieter this time, but with no less determination. "He killed my mom, and my dad, and my brother. He took you…" he swallows hard. "He took so much of you away from me. I don't remember our first kiss. Do you know that? I've seen it on film, but I don't remember it. I will never see my father again. The bakery burned to the ground." He sighs in defeat. "This isn't even about what he's done to me, Katniss. I'm not the only one that lost their dad." A lump forms in my throat. He took my dad too. He's taken countless other parents and children. "I've never had to bury a reaped child. I've never been sold to some perverted Capitolite. I didn't have my tongue cut out. I didn't burn inside that hospital," he says. He's seen the footage. He knows what's happening out there. "Do you know about Effie?" he asks quietly.

I shake my head, but I feel the color in my face drain. She didn't seem hurt when she returned. Skinny, but not hurt. What did they do to her?

Peeta locks his jaw, his eyes turn cold. "He hurt people I love. He hurt people I don't know. He turned me into something I'm not. And he's going to regret it."

"Peeta," I breathe, but when I raise my hand to his cheek he pulls away.

"I have training in the field house. I have to go," he says and starts to walk away, but he pauses, deciding something. He turns, walks back to me, and presses his mouth into mine. My heart slams in my chest. "I love you," he says, and leaves me standing in the hallway, out of breath.

The rest of training my mind is somewhere else. Which unit is Peeta in? Where will he be deployed? We spend a couple hours in a course on Counter Measure Tactics. Gale takes studious notes. I don't even notice when the teacher dismisses class. When I look at the lined paper in front of me, the page is blank. I'm frustrated with myself.

Boggs meets our squad and we head down to Special Weaponry. I'm surprised to see Peeta standing with and Commander Lyme.

"Welcome back from the field, Commander," Boggs says, offering her a hand. He turns to us. "Commander Lyme will lead the Beta Squad in the siege."

Peeta is with another victor.

"As you are all aware, deployment is in ten days' time," Beetee says as he begins to lay weapons on the table. "You each have unique strengths, so aside from the standard issue firearm, I've refined each of these weapons to enhance your potential in the field. Katniss, Finnick, and Gale have already used theirs in battle and have had great success." I slide my fingers along my bow and feel it hum underneath me. "Johanna, this I think you will like," Beetee says, and places a gleaming axe in her hands.

"Oh," Johanna says, and I can tell even feeling the axe has revealed some of its secrets to her. She swings it around her body. "Oh!" she says again.

"The weight transfer is impressive, isn't it?" Beetee offers, and Johanna nods. "Here, under your fingertip, this is a release. If you hit this button, the head of the axe will project and it will act as a grappling hook."

"Seriously?" Johanna asks, and Beetee has to stop her from testing it out on a wall. She rolls the axe in her palms as Beetee moves on.

"Commander, this is for you," he offers, handing Lyme what I learn is called a flail. This must have been her weapon of choice in the Arena. It consists of two lethal-looking spiked balls attached by a chain to the end of a large, heavy staff. "The tips are poisonous, so do be cautious. Any prey will be deemed immobile within thirty seconds of a strike, and will be dead in three minutes."

The way Beetee says _prey_ irks me. Opponent. We are on opposite sides of a war, but that doesn't make the foot soldiers on the other side prey. I'm not hunting anyone. Anyone but Snow.

The real highlight comes, though, when Beetee shows off Peeta's new leg.

"Not something I'd normally design to be weaponized, but the leg will offer you speed and agility beyond the limits of human muscle. This compartment contains a heavy blade, and you can find a couple short knives lower in the calf," Beetee indicates with his hands. "If you stomp your foot like so," Beetee stamps the leg down to demonstrate. A blade shoots out of the toe area of the foot. "There you are!"

Peeta nods sternly but doesn't offer more of a reaction to that. When Beetee hands him the limb, his face burns. He has no interest in removing his prosthetic in front of this crowd, but Beetee, ever twitchy and awkward, is oblivious to the whole social dynamic. Peeta leans on the edge of the table and hits the release for his leg. The temporary limb provided to him by 13 is adequate. 13 doesn't do more than adequate. He can get from one point to another. He can run. But as I've learned in the last couple nights, the fit and height are off, and it causes him pain nearly every time he moves. When Peeta puts the new limb on, something on his face shifts.

"Can it… can it hear me think?" he asks. I don't know quite what he means, but when Peeta lifts his pant leg, he's able to roll his ankle and flex the foot. This is far beyond the functionality of even his Capitol-provided limb.

"Yes, brilliant isn't it? I used some of the brain scans that were taken to investigate your hijacking and overlayed them into the command module. I think you'll find it quite exceptional," he says. Peeta places both feet on the ground and stands on his toes. It's like he's not missing a limb at all. A smile creeps across his face. For the first time in a long time, Peeta feels almost whole. He's remiss to return the leg, but we all hand in our weapons and head for dinner.

Peeta follows Commander Lyme, and they talk quietly a ways ahead of us. I watch him – shoulders back, casual. He should fight. He's ready. I've been holding him back, insisting he goes with me. If anything, he'll get himself killed trying to protect me. I'm a distraction. He's safer in another unit. Lyme breaks away down a hallway toward Command and we all continue on into the Dining Hall. My group sits to eat and I watch as Peeta crosses to a separate table across the mess. That must be his unit.

I scan the group to see if there's anyone I know. A couple soldiers from 13. The Leegs. I wonder if they've been transferred. Xander sits next to Peeta and places a hand on his shoulder. Peeta puts the buds in his ears. He's still cautious in crowded places with swarms of words. He barely speaks to his squad, but no one seems to give him a hard time. The rest of my table chats while I watch Peeta push around his carrots.

"Hey Katniss, you with us?" I hear Finnick ask.

"Yeah, sorry," I mumble, looking back at my plate. When dinner ends, Peeta follows his crew to the shooting range while we make our way to the field house. Tonight we're running intervals between jogging, running, and sprinting. I find this more realistic to what we'll do in the siege, and I appreciate having to pay attention to the pace because my wandering mind is making my head hurt.

I return to my room exhausted. My muscles hurt, my mind is uncooperative. I take a shower and try to focus on one thing at a time, but I can't remember if I've already washed my hair and so I lather the soap into my scalp again.

When I hear the door to my bathroom creak open, I know Peeta's worn the path back to me. I wasn't sure he'd come, and I realize I'd been nursing a knot in my chest that slowly comes unwound with him here.

"Katniss?" he asks softly.

"Yeah?" I respond, the pounding water burying my voice in the steamy air.

"Can I sit here with you?" he asks.

"Sure," I answer, and I watch as Peeta sits in front of my sink and leans his back against the cabinet doors. His head droops slightly and he closes his eyes, clearly just as tired as I am. I rinse the suds out of my hair, convinced it's not the first time. I shut the water off and pull a towel inside to dry myself off. I wrap another around my hair and step out onto the mat. Peeta looks up at me.

"The comment about Johanna last night," he starts, and I tilt my head before I realize he means about Johanna letting Peeta kill me. "It was funny," he says.

"I know," I answer. I look at him. His eyes are dull. "We need to sleep tonight," I say, and he nods in agreement. We're both exhausted. I knot my wet hair into a braid and we crawl into bed. I rest my head on his chest and listen to it beat a recognizable rhythm. The first few nights he slept with me his heart couldn't calm down. It slammed and beat against his ribs, trying to drive him away from me, but he clung to my hands and forced himself to stay. Now, though, it's slow and smooth and steady.

"Are you still mad at me?" he asks as he runs his hands idly up and down my arm.

"No," I answer truthfully. I'm not angry, I'm frustrated. But in this moment, more than anything, I'm tired. The same gnawing thought keeps tugging at my mind though. I roll away from him and onto my back. "Peeta?" I whisper, my stomach lurching as it tries to keep the question in.

"Yeah?" he says quietly, rolling on his side to look at me. I can't look at him, though. This is private, this is between the captives and not me. This is for Johanna and Annie and Peeta only. But the words come of their own volition, and I want to vomit as they cross my lips.

"What did they do to Effie?" I ask. He swallows hard.

"I tried to stop them," he utters, his voice dark and despondent at the same time. "Every time those men entered her cell, I would do something to draw their attention to me. I'd try to earn a beating. Jo did too, even though she and Effie get on each other's nerves. The first time they electrocuted Johanna was after she…" His eyes glaze over. He makes a slight choking sound in his throat. "Can we not talk about this?"

"Yeah, we don't have to talk about it," I say, tucking my head under his chin and wrapping my arms around his chest. He doesn't have to say more.

I know.

I know what they did.

It's why Effie won't come out of her room.

It's why Haymitch is so protective of her.

I'm going to kill Snow.

I close my eyes but I don't sleep. Neither does Peeta. We just lie there, counting our losses, tallying the wounded, burying the dead in our minds because most never earned real graves. Peeta's family still lies in the bakery, a pile of charred bones. They haven't been laid to rest.

"Make me forget," I whisper. I feel him shift next to me. I turn my body into his, so our noses touch and our mouths are a breath away from each other. "Make me forget," I breathe into him, and he draws his mouth slowly to mine. When our lips meet I whimper slightly and I feel his body react to me. Heat flushes his skin. His mouth moves against mine slowly, and he traces his tongue along my bottom lip, begging for me to meet him. I open my mouth slightly and he's inside. My stomach somersaults as he moves deeper, massaging my tongue with his own until my need for him becomes a pounding sensation I feel all over my body.

He shifts his body and rolls on top of me. The weight of his frame on mine is comforting, and the anxiety slips from my skin like sweat as it is replaced by yearning. I arch my back off the bed, pressing my hips into his, and he buries a groan in my neck. His hot breath on my skin sends everything alight, and I feel myself tugging at his shirt, begging for his skin.

Don't think don't think don't think.

He reaches back and pulls his shirt up and over his head before his hands reach for mine. All I wear to bed is a shirt and panties, so when he tosses my shirt on the floor, I'm practically bare beneath him. His eyes grow huge as they wander my chest, and he slides a hand up my ribs and over my breast. He's more bold now than he used to be. More demanding, and it makes my muscles clench and release as he runs his thumb over my nipple. My breath catches in my throat and my eyes dart to his. We don't talk a lot when we're doing this. We let our bodies speak for us, we let what we want take over. We ignore obligation and worry, and we let the immediacy of our time together drive us forward. The air isn't filled with odes to love, but rather with pants and shaking breaths. The rest of it is too hard, but our bodies remember how to love each other selflessly.

I tug his earlobe gently with my teeth. He pulls my panties from my body and drops his hands between my legs. I breathe into him, feeling his body respond in kind. Peeta bites his lip as he drops his eyes and watches his hands rub me. I blush but I let him stare, knowing he's burying painful memories with ecstatic new ones. I slide a hand across his cheek and his eyes dart up to mine. They trace my face, this needy look only he knows, but when he slips a finger inside me, my head presses back into the pillow and I try to muffle the moan into the sheets. My fingers wander until I grip him, hard and throbbing. I pull gently at first, then faster until the sounds coming from his mouth resemble something primal.

"Oh god," he finally moans, and I feel myself react. I can't catch my breath and I don't want to. My hair is still wet and the damp pillow on my cheek steals some of the heat, but I'm radiating. Peeta presses his mouth to my neck and kisses me until I squirm beneath him. He moves to my collarbone. He worships my breasts. When his mouth shifts to my stomach I know what he's doing, and I feel my heart hammer against me. He kisses my hip and draws his lips down my body until he's on me.

"Oh, oh, oh," I plead as I knot the sheets in my fists. His mouth moves over me, his tongue writing a sonnet to us on my body. My back arches and he uses his hands to hold my hips still, and all I can feel is heat and wet and passion. I feel sweat trickle down my body and I try to breathe through it, but his tongue is more direct than his hands can be, and I'm quivering and shaking beneath him. "Please," I beg for release, my legs shuddering as a throbbing pulse at my center makes my vision blur. He slides a finger inside me and a wave crashes over my body. I feel his tongue on me, his lips urging me through it. I shake and bite my lip, but I can't hold on so I just let it overcome me, and for a moment I do forget. For a moment there is nothing but this, nothing but neon colors and sweaty sheets, nothing but the taste of me on his mouth and the collapse of weary muscles. Nothing but two lovers finding comfort in the night.

When I finally come down, Peeta buries his face in my neck. I shiver beneath him for a minute before my body calms into a warm, peaceful puddle.

"Promise me you won't die out there," I whisper, and Peeta kisses me quiet. He won't make a promise he can't keep.


	29. Chapter 29 - The Block

"Today we're competing in a unit readiness test," Boggs explains. We are exactly a week out from deployment. All the squads are lined up in the field house, gathered in blocks. We've been assigned color-coded shirts. It's the first time I haven't worn gray since arriving in 13. I look down at my worn, burgundy tee shirt. It's not new. Nothing here is new. I wonder who wore this shirt before me. When Haymitch strolls up beside me, I give him a smirk.

"You joining us today, old man?" I whisper under my breath. He rolls his eyes at me. I want to turn around to see where Peeta is standing, but I'm not supposed to move. I'm not good at obeying orders. I'm not a soldier. I'm doing these drills, I'm running and taking notes and learning weaponry because it gets me one step closer to my own objective – killing Snow. Maybe Coin thinks she's conditioned me into one of her obedient disciples, but what she doesn't realize about the victors is that we adapt to survive.

"There are four parts to the exam: a written tactics exam, a test of weapons proficiency, an obstacle course to assess your squad's physical condition, and a simulated combat situation in the Block," Boggs bellows out.

I've never been in the Block. It's the final phase of combat training. From what I've heard from other soldiers, they've simulated a Capitol city block, including pods and Peacekeeping forces. It's all non-lethal. The weapons shoot packets of liquid dye, and if you are tagged, you are dead. It also stains your skin and you wear your tag like a badge of shame for the next couple days.

The written exam is surprisingly simple, although when my eyes dart to my periphery I see some of the novices struggling. I've clearly retained more than I thought I did. Most of the green squad is eliminated. The weapons proficiency test is by far the easiest for me. After weeks I can finally assemble a rifle in decent time, and my marksmanship is impeccable. Our burgundy squad sails through the first two courses, but more and more initiates from other squads fail to proceed. They start calling us the _Star Squad_ in a begrudged whisper.

I spy on Peeta as he assembles his weapon and completes the target course. Even Lyme is nodding in approval from her place with Boggs and the other squad leaders.

The obstacle course leaves me panting, but I finish with the fastest female time, and beating a far majority of the men. Finnick flies through the course as if gravity doesn't have any effect on him. He smiles at me smugly when I drop to my knees next to him. Haymitch tumbles through the last obstacle and is heaving for air, but he finishes.

"Don't start with me, sweetheart," he wheezes.

I look up and see Beetee fitting Peeta with his new leg at the far end of the course. His pale pink shirt reminds me of the sky in the Quarter Quell Arena. Peeta keeps his face still and serious, nodding occasionally as Beetee talks with him. Peeta hops up and down a few times. He seems agile. Young. He stands in line next to Xander and waits for the adjudicator to blow the start whistle. When it sounds, Peeta is immediately sprinting through the course. The obstacles seem like no challenge and at all, and he arches and curves his body over and around them. His strength is an advantage, and he scales the walls without hesitation. Even Finnick is holding his breath as Peeta leaps across a gully, not acknowledging the competing team's soldiers who couldn't make the improbable leap captured in the safety net below. Peeta finishes the course and smiles. He _smiles_.

"Well if I had a super leg, I could do that too," Finnick badgers him playfully.

"It felt like… it felt like it belonged to me," Peeta says, beaming.

"It looked that way," I offer.

Only our two squads advance to the Block. We sit in groups on the floor and listen to Boggs as he explains the wargame. He is outfitting one of our soldiers with a vest and firearm.

"Each member of your unit will enter the Block alone. In the scenario, your squad has been separated and you are entering an ambush. Each of you can communicate to your squad leader, me for the burgundy team and Lyme for the pink team. You will not have comms with one other. The objective is to breach the bunker established on the east end of the Block. No team can lose more than three squad members or you will be eliminated. There are Peacekeeping guards in the Block and the opposing squad should be considered hostile."

We stare at each other across the alley, sizing up our opponents. Save Mitchell and Homes, our team is primarily victors. Other than Peeta and Lyme, the opposing team is the elite of 13. It's almost like a test to see what better prepares you for war – a lifetime of military training or an Arena.

Our team heads toward the north entrance. I dare a glance at Peeta, who is moving toward the south of the Block. His eyes dart up and find mine, then he turns back to his team. Finnick and Gale are loading on their vests, and I follow suit. I check my firearm and arrows. The arrows are non-lethal, the arrowhead replaced by a dye packet. I assess it.

"It won't break any bones or anything, but it's not going to feel good," the instructor tells us as she shows us how to secure the vests.

"I don't plan on finding out," I respond, and I see the corner of her mouth smirk.

"You each go in individually. Line up here. I'll tell you when to enter. You are to go to your designated start point provided in the paper on the breast pocket of you vest. Once you've reached your start point, wait for the order to commence to play over the loud speakers," she says. My eyes lock with Finnick. It's too much like a Launch Room. Too much like standing on a metal disc while your life counts down in front of you. I run my hands over my face.

"Let's do this," I say. I enter the Block third, after Johanna. I open the paper in my hand and discover my starting point is on the third floor of a building adjacent an open square. I run to the entrance and take the stairs two at a time. I appreciate the bird's eye view of the space, but I'm certain there are Peacekeepers in this building. I might get eliminated before I even hit the street. I'm in the building for a few minutes before I hear a voice over the speakers. It's not Claudius Templesmith, but it might as well be.

"The wargame shall commence in 3, 2, 1. Go," it booms over us.

I load my bow and hit my comms.

I know what I would do here. Snipe the streets. Since this is an ambush scenario, I'd cause some kind of diversion to bring the Peacekeepers into the square and reverse the hand. They're no longer ambushing us, we're ambushing them. I'm about to send an arrow down to a leaking canister of gas I spy on the street corner when I remember I'm part of a team. I have allies. 13 will expect me to go into this test hot-headed and fiercely independent. I need to show them I can act as part of a team.

"Boggs, I have an aerial view of the square. What info do you need?" I ask. I'm clearly competing with other squad members checking in as he doesn't answer right away. After he asks for my visual assessment, he tells me to hit the street. I don't offer my plan. I don't argue. I simply hold my loaded bow in front of me and prepare for whatever personal ambush I find in the hallway.

I push open the door and a dye packet slams into the wall next to me, leaving an emerald mark. I watch the dye drip down the wall and for a moment I remember watching water trickle down the wall of our cave in the Arena. I shake my head. _Get out of the Arena. Get your head in the Block._ I know this isn't a warzone, not really, but I feel a coldness take over, one I'm familiar with. I'm ready to fight.

I turn sharply and spy my first assailant, letting an arrow fly. It slams into the Peacekeeper's chest and leaves a deep burgundy dye mar. He drops to the ground, eliminated from the game. I wait for a cannon. _Get out of the Arena, Katniss. There are no cannons._ I take cover behind my door and look around the room. This is supposed to be some kind of studio or something. I grab a pillow from the couch and chuck it into the hall. I see dye hit it from three directions. Okay then. I load my first arrow, slide gracefully through the door, and let it fly toward the Peacekeeper near the stairs. By the time he's raised his arm my arrow smashes into his helmet, his head dripping in burgundy. I don't hesitate before loading my next arrow and taking out the opponent at the end of the hall. The third has time to let out a defensive round, but I dodge it easily and smash the dye arrow in her throat. I flinch for a moment, knowing that must have hurt, but I move on. In the lobby I take out three more Peacekeepers before I hit ground level and force my way out of the building.

My limbs feel cold.

"Boggs, I'm on the street, now what?" I ask. I stare at the gas can. This would be easy. Light it up, draw them out, take them down.

"Rendezvous with Finnick at your two o'clock," he orders, and I take off without hesitation. I find Finnick hunched behind a trashcan taking heavy fire from across an alley.

"About time you showed up," he teases as packets of green explode in front of us. "Let's alternate. Cover, shoot, switch?" I nod and load my firearm. We spray the opposing alley until it drips with dye and the Peacekeepers have fallen silent. We meet with Gale and Mitchell and begin our progression east toward the bunker.

When we encounter Haymitch, he's not alone. He's being pursued by what appears to be some kind of Mutt. It darts gracefully from side-to-side, swinging through the air and clawing at the cement street. It's almost cat-like, but its mouth is full of rows of razor-sharp teeth, like some kind of fish that lives in the depths of the ocean too deep for light to penetrate. I load an arrow and send it down the Mutt's throat. It flickers, almost like when the signal is cutoff on a television, and then disappears, my arrow laying on the street.

"Pod?" I ask, and he nods as he catches his breath.

We find Homes and Johanna and move, Boggs guiding us over the earpiece. It doesn't take long to traverse the Block and we come upon a firefight. The pink squad has reached the east bunker first and is involved in a heavy battle with the Peacekeeping force. I wonder if we should engage, when out of nowhere Homes begins firing, giving away our position. The Peacekeepers split in two, diverting some attention to us. The pink squad is in better position. Homes may have just cost us the game.

We don't have a choice so we fire at will toward the Peacekeepers. We manage to avert the barrage of green bullets, but when I hear a thud I look up and find Johanna without air, pink dye sprawled across her chest. She drops to her knees, the wind knocked out of her. I take cover and drop my weapon.

"You can breathe. In and out," I say, and she nods.

"Come on, Katniss, we don't have time for that. She's dead," Gale shouts back at me, and I glare at him. Johanna manages to find a rhythm again, and her chest moves up and down. Dyed or not, I'm not leaving her huffing for air on the floor.

"Go, stupid, I'm fine," she gasps.

"You can breathe?" I ask, and she nods to confirm. "Okay."

My eyes shift focus from the Peacekeepers to the pink squad. I'm not sure who shot Johanna, but I'm not playing anymore. I grab my bow. "I'm standing," I shout to Gale, and he immediately provides me cover. I load two arrows in my bow and push to my feet, drawing back the string and letting them fly into the pink safe hold. I don't need to watch, I know I've hit my targets. Two pink squad members go down. If they lose one more, they are out of the wargame.

We move down the street, still engaging the Peacekeepers. By the time we reach our new position, the Peacekeepers have flanked the bunker door and spray gunfire out in the both directions. The burgundy and pink teams are on opposite sides, three rivals forced in a triangle. Then the real ambush begins. Mobilizing from behind us, a mass deployment of Peacekeepers floods the square. Both squads are fighting for our lives, shooting and taking cover, but the sheer volume of soldiers overwhelms us. My eyes dart across the square and I spy Peeta. He looks calm, focused. Reserved. He's still holding back.

We will lose. Both squads will be squashed if the fight continues how it is. We are severely outnumbered, and I don't have any incendiary or explosive arrows in here. Think. Think. I look to Haymitch. We come to the same realization at the same time.

"Boggs!" I call into my earpiece.

"Go ahead, Soldier Everdeen," his voice crackles in my ear.

"Do you have the holo?" I ask. I can hear his smirk through the earpiece.

"I do," he replies.

"Are there any active pods in the area?" I ask.

"You risk taking out your own squad," Boggs replies. "It's too dangerous."

I pull my hair in frustration. 13 is too calculated sometimes. I don't argue. I know that's part of the test. Following orders. I look over and see Peeta pulling away from his squad. Searching for something. I nudge Haymitch.

"Peeta," I say, and his eyes follow mine. Peeta's got the same idea we did, but his Commander is a victor. I see him raise his gun at a seemingly innocuous corner of a building.

"GET DOWN!" I scream to my squad, and we hit the ground in time to avoid an explosion of ink. It sprays the legion of Peacekeepers. I look up to see Homes, his face covered in yellow paint.

"Shit," he hisses, throwing his weapon to the ground.

We can only take one more hit. I assess the pink team but they have no causalities. Peeta stands from his shelter behind a stalled car and jogs back to his team. They hunch over as they sort out a plan. I stare at the entrance to the bunker. It's metal with a giant hole blown out of the bottom right corner.

"It's like a feast," I say to Haymitch, and Finnick nods. We all want something, but our enemies lie in wait, ready to shoot the willing. I remember Foxface, so clever, hiding in the Cornucopia overnight. I need something clever, but my mind comes up short. "Ideas?" I ask the team. Boggs remains conspicuously silent in our ears. He wants to see what we'll do.

I look at Gale and can practically hear his mind clicking. "We need to stop focusing on how to get into the bunker. We need to take out one of their squad. If they lose another, they are out," he answers.

"So are we," I say.

"Well then we better get them first," he says. It doesn't seem likely. Both squads are well protected behind their individual covers. It's a game of chicken. Gale's lips press into a thin line as he thinks. He assesses their position. They are huddled behind an overturned statue of President Snow. The front end is completely fortified, but their backs are exposed. I watch as Gale measures the objects behind them. "What is we bust that water main? The flood might force them out of their space, or at the least cause enough of a distraction for us to take someone out," he says.

Boggs buzzes over the earpiece. "Katniss, take out the main."

I'm not sure these non-lethal arrows have enough oomph in them to actually pierce a pipe. I shift my eyes upward and notice a hunk of desolated building rubble perched precariously over the main. If I knock it down, it will surely take out the main and flood the street. _No different than apples and bombs_ , I think to myself. Gale watches as my eyes shift upward. I exhale and let the arrow fly. It smacks into the perilously unstable concrete and sends it hurdling toward the main. It smashes the pipe, bursting it open and exploding water onto the pink squad. Out of instinct alone, they leap from their hideaway like an earthworm surfaced by the rain.

Gale and I climb to the top of the pile of rubble our crew is hiding behind. Gale takes aim for one of the Leegs. Peeta follows his eyes and dives to his teammate, shoving her to the ground, hard. The pink squad is only distracted for a minute, and they scurry back over the statue, except for Peeta, who stands on the ground and hoists each of them up.

"Come on, we need cover," Gale yells and leaps back behind the banking. As his weight leaves, though, the rubble under me shifts and I go rolling down the hill. I hit the ground hard and pain shoots up my shoulder. I hear footsteps, and before I know what I'm doing I load my bow. Trained at the tip of my weapon is Peeta. He throws his gun to the side.

"Are you hurt from the fall?" he asks, still holding his distance. I try to assess my body. No, I'm not hurt, not seriously anyway. I shake my head. This is all too familiar. Peeta and I staring at each other, my weapon armed. When did the rules change on us again?

Suddenly Peeta jolts backwards and my stomach leaps to my throat, his chest gushing crimson red. It's not blood, it's not blood. He reaches his hand to his chest and it comes back covered in burgundy dye. I look back and see Mitchell standing on our barrier, gun in hand. He jumps down the rock pile and heads toward the bunker. The rest of the pink team throws their weapons to the ground in a huff while the victors strut by them toward the hole in the metal door. Haymitch walks up and puts his hand on Peeta's shoulder.

They must hit some kind of buzzer or checkpoint in the bunker, because a loud bell rings and the simulation fades. We leave the way we came in, dropping our vests on a table and ringing our sweat-drenched shirts in our hands.

At dinner, people chatter constantly about the wargame. Johanna's neck is streaked with pink dye, and she keeps tugging at her collar to hide it. I look across the cafeteria and see Peeta. He seems to be ostracized by his squad, most sitting at the far end of the table, except for Xander, who sits near Peeta and eats silently. The meal ends.

That night, Peeta and I are in my bathroom brushing our teeth.

"You should have shot me," he says casually, spitting in the sink.

"You should have shot me," I retort, but we both know it's pointless. I jump when the compartment door swings open and slams shut. I'm sure our entire floor heard it.

I hear a hammering fist on the other side, and Johanna shouts at the closed door, "Go away, Gale! I don't want to talk to you!"

"Jo, you are being ridiculous!" His muffled voice yells from the hallway.

"You have no idea, Hawthorne. Get away from my door or I'll shove your foot so much further in your mouth, you'll shit toe nails for a week!" she screams back, smacking the door with her palms.

I lean out the bathroom door, toothbrush still in my mouth. "Hey," I say through a mouthful of toothpaste.

"Hey," she says angrily, kicking her shoes off and throwing herself on her bed. "I don't know how you put up with him for seventeen years, Katniss. He's an idiot," Johanna fumes before she notices Peeta's shoes next to the door. "Um…."

Peeta steps out of the bathroom. Johanna stares at his pajamas and back at me.

"Can you get me some water?" I ask Peeta. There is a drinking water station on every floor. Each room is allotted a certain volume based on occupancy. I push the practically full water basin into his hands. I don't need water.

"Um, sure," he says, eyeing Johanna and I before slipping on his shoes and leaving the room.

"Johanna, look," I start, but she cuts me off.

"This isn't a good idea," she states, whatever fight she had with Gale skidding from her mind. "Look, I get it. I'm all for you two spending time together, but, you know, supervised. With other people around. So we can make sure he doesn't kill you."

"He's not going to kill me. You saw what happened the last time he flashed. He was in control."

"So in control he had to have Gale knock him out!" she snaps. "How can you be so stupid?"

"He had Gale knock him out because he was in pain, not because he was out of control," I bite back.

"I want you two to work it out, but I want you alive more. If Gale found out he'd lose it," Johanna mutters.

"Maybe that's your problem, huh? Gale is still worried about me even though you are the one in his bed?" I retort bitterly.

I regret my words immediately. I don't even know where they came from. She glares at me venomously. "Well excuse me for finally liking having your skinny ass around! Maybe it's not obvious, Kit Kat, but you matter to me too, you know!" she says as she gets in my face. "It would kill Peeta, _kill him_ , if he hurt you. I don't know that we'd ever get him back. You want that on your hands?"

I'm silent. I know he won't hurt me, but I don't deserve to be a part of this conversation anymore. Not after what I said. Not when Johanna's only concerns aren't coming from jealousy or bitterness, and I took a dig just to hurt her. I don't even recognize myself.

"You know it's wrong. If you didn't, you would have told us," Johanna adds, the emotion drained from her voice.

"Jo," I start, but she's not interested. There's a soft knock on the door and Peeta lets himself back in.

"Water?" he offers, and but I just stare at Johanna.

"I didn't mean that," I say to her. Peeta looks between us.

"I'm staying here from now on," Johanna replies, dropping herself onto her bed. It's not because of what's going on with Gale. They both have heated tempers, it will blow over. She doesn't trust Peet and I alone together.

After some hesitation, Peeta crawls into bed with me and falls asleep quickly. He's right. If today proved anything, we can't be in the same unit. One or both of us will get ourselves killed for the other. A battlefield isn't an Arena. He's a distraction. I'm a distraction. I stare at the ceiling and blow all the air out of my lungs. Peeta shifts his weight and tightens his hold on my waist, which he often does when he's only barely asleep. I know Johanna is awake, though, fuming silently in her bed.

"None of it matters," I offer quietly to the room. I hear her rustle under her wool blanket. "Even if he were a danger. It doesn't matter, Jo. We aren't going to survive this siege. You've got to know that." Her body stills, and I assume she's ignoring me. Staring at the wall. Instead, she pushes herself out of bed and slips out the door without a word, the latch clicking locked behind her.

I'm not the only one afraid to waste time.


	30. Chapter 30 - Shore Leave

District 13 refers to the day before deployment as Shore Leave. I guess it's an old term from before the Dark Days, used by sailors describing a period where they dock for a break on land before going back out to sea. Finnick finds the term endearing, but it doesn't make much sense to me considering for many this is a first deployment. I don't complain. Shore Leave means I don't have a purple schedule on my arm. Shore Leave means I have one day to do whatever I want.

I spend the morning with Prim. We sit on the floor of my old compartment and I quiz her on anatomy.

"What's the scientific name for your jawbone?" I drill.

"Mandible. That's an easy one, Katniss, give me another," she complains.

"What is this?" I say, pointing at a picture with a disgusted look on my face. Prim leans over and looks at the book.

"That's what the inner ear looks like," she says confidently.

"Yeah, but what is that?" I say, my finger pointing to what to me looks like some kind of snail with tentacles. She giggles.

"It's the cochlea. It's the part of your ear. When it feels sound vibrations, it converts them into impulses and sends them up your nerves for processing in your brain. Or… something like that," she adds quickly, blushing. "We only learned that last week. I'm not totally sure."

"It looks like a little monster living in my head," I tease.

"Two little monsters," she says, and I look at her sideways. "You have two ears, Katniss."

"Primrose Everdeen, are you being smart with me?" I bait her, and she giggles again. She rests her head on my shoulder and the sounds of her gay laughter dissolve into the air. She gets quiet.

"I'm sort of used to saying goodbye to you by now," she says softly. I take my hand and smooth out her hair gently. "Only, this time you are going because you're choosing to. It feels different."

"Prim, I have to do this," I say, and I feel her nodding.

"I know that. And I think you should go. I think you can change things, Katniss. For all of us. I think you can end this war," she says, sitting up and meeting my gaze.

"You're going to change the world someday too, little duck," I say.

"Being a doctor isn't the same as what you're doing," she answers, and I give her a stern look. "You're going to change the whole world."

"When you heal someone, Prim, to that person, it's their whole world. To the people that love them, it's their whole world," I say softly, and she smiles.

It's ironic. Her gift is life, but mine is death. The world is full of these polarities, brimming with inseparable yet contradictory opposites. Light and dark. Life and death. Young and old. Prim's wide blue eyes blink at me. I want to cradle her in my arms like I did when she was little, but her childhood is escaping her. The Games made her grow up. The war stiffened her spine. But she didn't let it change her. It didn't make her abandon her optimism, her idealism. Things I left behind me long ago. "I am so proud of who you are, of who you've become, of who you'll be," I whisper, blinking away tears that threaten to spill out of my eyes. She wraps her tiny arms around my neck, and I remember rocking her to sleep as a small child, singing softly in her ear, trying to bury the sounds of hunger growling in her stomach. Prim will always be mine.

This is why I have to fight.

I run my fingers under my eyes quickly, stand up from the floor, and stretch my stiff muscles. "Come on, let's get breakfast," I say.

The Dining Hall is conspicuously empty. I doubt Annie and Finnick will leave their room today. Soldiers from the other squads are absent too, clearly taking this 24-hour leave seriously. I spy Rye and Delly up filling their trays, and Prim waves to them to sit with us. My brow furrows. If Rye and Delly are here, Peeta is probably alone. I'm sure that's what he wants, but my stomach knots in frustration until I look down at my tray. In the corner of my plate is a tiny pastry, maybe the size of a large coin. The dough is rolled delicately and cinnamon swirls from the crisp edges. On top is a delicate sugary icing.

Peeta's not alone.

Peeta's in the kitchen.

Rye picks up the tiny pastry and holds it in his hands. "My dad used to make these," he says softly. "It's just a cinnamon roll, really, but he folded the edges so it looked a little like a flower." I look back down at my plate. It does look like flower petals, dusted with cinnamon. "He called it a cinnamon rose." He sets it back on his plate and stares at it.

Delly bubbles on about something she learned in class today. She's a voracious learner. She must have felt stifled in District 12, where the only thing we were given to read was propaganda-filled history books and manuals on coal production. I watch Rye watch her. When her voice shrieks in a particularly high cadence, I try to conceal my scowl with a sip of coffee, but Rye watches her lips move and his eyes linger there long after she's stopped talking, which… it's Delly, so that takes a while. Oh!

Does Peeta know?

I smile. Maybe Peeta's family is growing after all.

I spend a good portion of the afternoon behind a pipe in the boiler room. I'm not hiding. I'm not running away. But I recognize this may be the last time I'm alone. I need to say goodbye to everyone, but I also need to say goodbye to myself. I stare at my hands. I'm not a lot to look at. I'm small and skinny. It's not likely I'll flourish into anything more. But I'm smart, in my own way, and I have good aim, and… my mind drags. I care about people. I care about people. I've always been reclusive, I've always isolated myself from things that could nestle into my heart and hurt me later. But when you survive something, when you fight together… I can't not care anymore. I love them. I love my entire dysfunctional, deadly, broken-but-pieced-back-together family. I find a spare screw on the ground and I run the sharp edge along my inner arm. My skin turns pink under its point, and I draw my name. I watch as it fades back into the white of my arm. Someday I'll fade away too. Someday soon.

I'm too nervous to eat dinner. I know I should, but my stomach is in knots. Instead, I go back to my room and find Peeta sitting on the floor outside my compartment door.

"Is this a good idea?" I ask. "People will see you."

He pushes himself to his feet and wipes his hands on his pants as he follows me into my room. "I don't care," he breathes as he sweeps his fingers back into my hair and draws me into a tight embrace. "We leave tomorrow, but this time we aren't together. I'm just… I know it's the right thing to do, but I'm kind of freaking out," he confesses into my shoulder.

"Me too," I say back. The last time we separated, I lost him. My heart starts to throb in my chest, aching and trying to interfere with what my mind knows is right. We can't be together this time. I close my eyes and I feel like we are back in the jungle, a spool of wire in my hand and my stomach burning. _I'll see you at midnight_ , I'd promised, but then everything had gone wrong. My throat feels like it's closing. Peeta's body pulls away and I open my eyes to find his trained on me. Blue. Familiar. I lean my cheek into his palm and I feel him steady on my skin. I exhale and the unspoken goodbye feels painful in my mouth, acidic and spoiled, but I can't spit it out.

Peeta leans forward and kisses me softly, as if the urgency of our situation isn't real. As if we have a lifetime ahead of us of a million soft kisses. A kiss for every greeting, a kiss for every departure, as if we could come and go from one another for years. A kiss that feels like our life is casual.

When I draw this bottom lip between mine gently with my teeth, his breath hitches and the coolness abruptly fades.

"Katniss, we don't have to," he breathes into my mouth, but I swallow his words and I trace his lip with my tongue. The muscles in his stomach tremble under my fingertips, and I slide my hands up his chest and to his neck. I pull my mouth back and run it along his jaw. The hand knotted in my hair clenches tight while his other drops to my waist and tugs at the hem of my shirt until his palm is hot and rough on the skin of my ribs.

"Our first kiss," I whisper between breaths and dragging my mouth along his skin and to the hollow of his throat, "The first time we kissed, I was trying to shut you up. I'd just managed to get you into the cave, and you kept talking about how you might not make it, and…" The words slip from my mouth. "That was the first time we kissed."

"When was our real first kiss?" he asks, his hands suddenly stilling as he pulls his body from mine to study my face. "When did you mean it?" He didn't know this before the hijacking either. He's never known when I meant it. I'm not sure I've ever really known, but the answer comes easily to me.

"We were fighting, in the cave. You were angry about the Feast, and you were yelling at me," I say. I remember his words in my ears. _Don't die for me. You won't be doing me any favors._ "I was pushing back, and…"

"I've seen the tape. You were fumbling over your words. How it wouldn't just be hard for me if you died. How you'd be a wreck if I died, too. You shut down the conversation, and… I kissed you," Peeta says.

"Yeah, you kissed me," I answer.

"That one was real?" he asks.

"That was real," I answer.

"What was it like?" he probes, his eyes dropping to my mouth.

I stand on my toes and ghost my lips over his. "The other kisses, you were burning with fever, or I was delirious with blood loss, but this time, we were both present. It wasn't a complicated kiss. It was simple," I press my mouth to his. "In that moment, I would have kissed you anyway. Cameras or not. That wasn't for everyone else. I wanted that kiss to happen."

"Like this?" he breathes, and presses his mouth to mine. I move my lips with his. Simple, yet a fire burns in my stomach and warms my chest and makes me want so much more.

I slide my hands into his hair and deepen the kiss. His breathing quickens into short pants, and the sound makes me body buzz. His tongue slides into my mouth and he draws it along the roof of my mouth in a way that is strangely erotic. I whimper into his mouth and he shakes.

Most of our nights together have been hurried. A kiss that got out of hand, one of us waking in the night and rousing the other. Always rushing, always pulling into each other and pleading for more. We can't wait, we crash together until we fall apart.

But this pace is languid.

Our mouths still. Everything stills. His hands drop from my body and mine fall from his. He takes the hem of my shirt, asking with his eyes. I nod and he slips it up over my head. My skin meets the chilled, sterile air of the underground bunker and prickles. I step closer, so we're only inches apart, and take edge of his shirt. He helps me pull it off and it joins mine in a strewn pile on the floor. One of his hands reaches out and pushes a piece of my hair behind my ear.

"You're so beautiful," he respires, and I pull back a little. We promised no more lies. I know I'm plain. I don't need loving words grounded in falsehoods. He steps forward again and slides his hand up my chest. Its warmth is so pleasant my eyes drop closed and I hum as his palm runs over my breast. He slides his thumb across its peak and a sound lodges in my throat. "You are beautiful," he repeats, and my eyes flash open. This. All of this. The words and the kindness. The calm. The stability. This is not the hijacked man I've been screwing at night. This is old Peeta.

His mouth moves with mine like he knows how we fit, and I pull him back toward my bed. We can't be separate, we can't be apart anymore. The air between us feels wrong. The clothing and distance and everything between us feels dishonest, and we pull it away desperately and close the space.

Peeta drops his hand between us and slowly starts to rub me. My hips buck into his hand, and he keeps his eyes fixed on my face. I stare back at him, trying to memorize this moment. A sigh escapes my mouth and he drops his lips to mine gently, like he's kissing a wound, which seems appropriate in the moment since I feel raw and open. My hands knot in my sheets, already drenched with our sweat, but I love the way we smell and sound and taste together. He dips a finger inside me, curling until he finds the place that makes me bite my lip, and he repeats the motion.

When I drop my hands, Peeta is already throbbing and he draws breath through his teeth when I touch him. I hear my name garbled in his throat among other words. His hands abruptly grabs my wrist. "Stop, I can't," and he groans heavily into my shoulder. I still the movements, and he is shaking, begging his body to slow down.

I feel empty. I can't slow down. I can't stop. Instead, I pull myself on top of him.

"Katniss," he hisses as I slowly lower myself onto him. I move my body in the rhythm we've found in the pitch blackness of my room. I drag things out, I watch as he grabs the bars of the bed for support, as he loses the ability to speak, as he forgets his name and every time he's been hurt and everything besides what is happening in this moment. Live. Real. Here.

This, what we are doing, can mean different things. We've used it to cover hurt. We've used it to find our way back together. We've used it in anger, and for fun, and to bury the hellish things that hide beneath our eyelids at night. We've used it to lie to each other and to tell the truth, we've used it to coax away confusion. But in this moment, we aren't using it for anything at all.

We are loving each other.

Peeta's body clenches beneath me, and he shoots up and grabs my face, my hair. His mouth is all over me and he's thrusting hard as I cling to his shoulders. He looks at me with a burning question in his gaze. _Come with me?_ I nod, and he kisses me hard as I feel him climax. I feel my name passed to my lips like praise. Everything in me pulses and vibrates as I meet him. My fingernails dig into his skin and I try to stay in this moment, but like everything in our life it slips between our fingers. Our bodies both fall slack. I kiss his temple as I try not to slip away from him.

We press our backs against the wall, panting and covered in sweat.

"That felt different," I breathe, my chest losing its battle for air.

"Different how?" he asks, but I can tell he knows.

"Did you remember something?" I ask. Peeta drops his head onto my shoulder, turning slightly so his face is in my neck, his lips grazing the skin along my throat, making my core ache.

"I remember your stuff in my room," he says, his mouth never leaving my skin. I still for a moment. He feels the change and lifts his face to mine. "I remember you would always leave your tea mug on my dresser. I remember your clothes on my floor. I remember your hair in my shower. I remember bright feathers and smooth rocks on my counters and my window sills. I remember tripping on your shoes that you left haphazardly in front of my door like you owned the place. I remember your sweater tucked into the cushions of my chair in the living room. I remember dirt in my hallway from your hunting boots. I remember…"

"You remember I'm a slob?" I ask.

"I remember you _all over_ my house. You were everywhere," he says. I nod. "You were everywhere," he says again, and he presses his mouth to mine. The Capitol didn't manipulate those memories because I'm not in them. Not really. But I'm there, and Peeta remembers me there without any distortion at all. A grin stretches across his face. "I saw the tapes, by the way, and that is definitely _not_ what our first kiss was like," he jokes, pulling me down into bed with him, draping his arms over me.

I roll away from him and press my chest into his back.

 _No,_ I think, _because this wasn't our first. It was our last._


	31. Chapter 31 - Goodbyes

When the early morning light creeps in through the tiny window, Peeta pulls himself from my bed. The absence of his body, which burns hot like a furnace, combined with the cold air rushing under my sheets makes me shiver with protest. "Don't go," I whisper, running my hand down his back.

"We have to be at the Hangar deck in two hours," he says, leaning down and kissing my mouth softly. I wrap my arms around his waist.

"Then stay two hours," I beg, but I know he's right. Our floor will come to life soon. I'm due on the soundstage in forty-five minutes. I'm pleading that our peaceful reverie not end, but there is no pausing the forward motion of war. I realize this is the last time we'll be together like this, and I sit up in bed and wrap my arms around him tight. He runs his fingers lightly over my hair. I have absolutely no idea how to say goodbye to him. We're supposed to go into this together. The lump in my throat swells and it feels like I'm swallowing a rock. He doesn't know how to navigate this either, given away by his shallow breathing.

"Thank you," Peeta whispers into my hair.

"For what?" I ask, refusing to let him go.

"For finding me," he answers. Finding him by the river? Finding him in the dungeon? Finding him inside a hijacked mind? I don't ask. He means all of it. He squeezes me hard then his arms slacken. My heart starts slamming inside my chest, like my ribs are an affront to my body, but I let my arms slip away from him. Peeta stands and dresses as I watch the familiar motions. When he turns his face back to me, I realize he looks so much older. I'm sure I do too. We aren't kids standing in our Reaping clothes anymore.

"You'll still be with me out there. Just like you were when I was in the Capitol, and when I was in the hospital. Maybe we aren't together, maybe I can't touch your skin or hear your voice, but you'll still be with me out there," he says. He's finding himself now. He's finding who he was before all this. He shifts his feet. "I'll see you in the Hangar?" he asks, his jaw solid and stiff, but his voice betraying the insecurity of being apart.

"Yeah," is all I can manage, and he nods. He hesitates for a moment at the door, but pulls back his shoulders and slips into the hall. I release the breath I've been holding. I stand up and pull a tee shirt over my body. I need to shower. I need to pack. I close my eyes and try to focus my thoughts when there is a soft knock at the door. It's probably Prim, given the hour, and I cross to the door and open it slowly. Peeta steps through the threshold and pulls me into his arms, lifting me until just my toes graze the floor. He crashes his mouth into mine. I tug lightly at his hair, moving my mouth with his, finding the heat and warmth and steadiness I've come to anchor myself to. Every overwhelming and contradictory thing I've ever felt for him floods my senses, but I'm not that confused girl anymore. I haven't been in a long time. Our lips part and he hugs me so hard I feel like my bones might break. It reminds me of my dad.

"Come home to me," I say, and he knows what I mean. His home. The home that has my things all over it. The one that was becoming ours. _Meet me there after the war._

"You too," he says and I nod. We make an unspoken vow. Stay alive. He kisses me softly and whispers my name on my lips.

"Yeah?" I reply.

"I forgot my toothbrush," he says, and I pull back and blush. "This was all really nice too, though," Peeta adds with a grin. He goes into the bathroom and quickly grabs his toothbrush. He kisses me once more and ducks back out the door. I press my frozen fingers to my burning cheeks, the smile staining my mouth and refusing to leave.

I'm ready.

I shower quickly and stand in front of the mirror. I use my palm to wipe the muggy glass clear again. I open the bottom draw under my sink and reach for the small box in the back. The chain Effie gave me sits on the counter, and I finger it carefully as I open the box. Inside sits my ring. I slip it from the case and slide the fine metal chain through the loop. I clasp it closed behind my neck and let it fall flat against my chest.

I'll need more than one token in this Arena.

I pull on my gray clothes and throw an extra set in a small duffel, along with my toothbrush and some spare underwear and socks. We'll be provided uniforms at the Hangar, although I assume my schedule has me headed to the soundstage because I'll be in Mockingjay gear. When I arrive, the room is bustling with movement. Cressida and her team are in the booth, testing all their equipment and packing extra battery packs and lenses. My prep team surrounds my Mockingjay suit, and Effie has made a rare appearance to boss them around. I observe them and smile to myself as the flitter about, tweaking this and fixing that, as if my uniform will not be full of dirt and bullets and blood by week's end. But with every stich of a needle, they show they care. They are doing what they can. When they see me approach, the three of them throw their arms around me.

"Now you be careful out there, Katniss," Flavius clicks, his curls bouncing as he squeezes me as hard as he can.

"That's enough! She can hardly breathe in there!" Effie dismisses them, taking my hands. She dresses me in the uniform. Her long eyelashes flit as she tries to bat away tears. "I have never been prouder of my victors! You go take our country back," she whispers, and I wrap her tiny body in my arms.

"Thank you, Effie," I whisper in her ear, and I hear her breath catch. I'm not the wordsmith, I don't express my feelings, but I didn't see her before the Quell either, and I have years of goodbyes on my lips.

"Now, now, don't smudge your makeup," she says, running a piece of cotton along my top lip. "There!" She puts the discarded cotton on the table. "Cinna would have been so proud, my dear. Truly." Someone brings my bow and the camera crew films me as I walk alone down the hallway to the Hangar deck. When the automatic doors slide open, the room is alive yet mechanical. Different squads line up in front of different hovercrafts, deployment routes sending them to various strategic sites. My eyes wash over the deck until I find him strapping on his vest. Peeta raises his head and our eyes meet across the room.

"Katniss!" I hear a familiar voice behind me and turn to find Prim and my mother. I wrap my little sister in my arms tight.

"Hey, little duck," I say softly, and smile at my mother over her shoulder.

"How do you feel?" she asks, concern knit on her brow. I sense the cameras on us and give Cressida a look. She respectfully backs up a few feet. Well, at least they can't hear us.

"Better, knowing you're somewhere Snow can't reach you," I answer, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. I don't tell them about the Capitol, how it's been laced with defenses that mirror an Arena. They don't need anything else to fuel their nightmares. My going to war is awful enough on its own.

"Next time we see each other, we'll be free of him," Prim says with some conviction. She doesn't doubt for a moment we will win.

My eyes burn when my mother throws her arms around my body and whispers in my ear, "Be careful." She holds me tight, and I see tears on her cheeks, something she suppressed when I was slated for the Games. When she finally pulls back I nod and let me arms fall to my side. My mom wraps her arms around Prim's shoulders and walks her away. She doesn't want her to see the warplanes, the guns. Before they exit, though, she throws her face back at me one more time. "I love you," she mouths from a distance.

"I love you, too," I mouth back, and I mean it. I don't throw that word around lightly. Goodbyes aren't easy.

I shake my hands and try to gain some composure. When I turn back to the hovercraft, I push them from my mind. That part of my life is behind me. I'm not a daughter anymore. I'm not a sister. I'm not a lover. I'm a soldier, a warrior. A victor.

And I'm going to kill Snow.


	32. Thank You

Thank you guys for reading this story and not KILLING ME over hijacking Peeta. I know my pace has slowed and I'm only posting every few days now, and no one complains. I looooove you all!

As always, thanks to my #1 fans - stjohn27 and jroseley. You two rock my world.

Also call outs to fluffytardis, Dominions, Dancer0109, Resisting-Moonlight, deltagirl74, Sunsetorangegirl, Shellibug, Puppenschlitten, karin6824, mar071, PrincessAlica, Pari B, justreadingforfun, wonderishome, Leprechaun895, rebelsroyalty, CrazyWithABook, pookieortega, Niqachita, Ifdy, amazingshania, ryebrewster, lhaine07, LessAmused, batgirl1989, Jae, Peetaforever, shannon, Princess Alica, EBB - Sonnet 43, LessAmused, MockingjayA, Batmanschick, jns1253, Evangeline the Gothic Angel, ranDomXx, akdaneger, mystictiger23, JupiMoon, rawaz, AlwaysPeetaM, bethaniaroy, Serena.

Thank you thank you thank you!

So… head on over to Book 4 - The Only Thing That's Right. First chapter is already up!


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